


East of Eden

by hannahch



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Chib's daughter, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, Juice - Freeform, Quinn - Freeform, chibs - Freeform, the promise of future juice/oc goodness!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-04
Updated: 2015-10-06
Packaged: 2018-03-16 07:12:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3479069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannahch/pseuds/hannahch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chibs has been isolated from his family in Belfast for many years, so when his daughter Caoimhe turns up on the club's doorstep with a traumatising story, he must reevaluate their safety within the clutches of the IRA.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 'End of All Days'

**Author's Note:**

> The title to this story, 'East of Eden' is a song by Zella Day. She has a beautiful voice and some serious writing talent going on. The title, I felt, gives the feeling that maybe, in this case, Charming is not as perfect as it is sold. But listening to the lyrics, there is a sense that perhaps the protagonist is not made for the true purity of Eden, or that there are traps within the so called Paradise and so they are forced to flee to find their own place. I think that that sums up Charming perfectly. I hope that you agree, but as always feel free to let me know what you think!

_Jimmy O’Phelan stood at the edge of a field, watching as his men unbound the young girl. She reminded him so much of her father; calm, centered and balanced, until her anger got the better of her. He knew that she had seen him lay his hand on her mother, watched as he forced bruises to the surface of her skin. He knew also that regardless of her fear of him, and the distance between herself and her father, there was little that he could do to prevent word of his mistreatings of her mother reaching Filip Telford, and as little as he thought of the man, he knew that the wrath of such an individual was inescapable._

_Taking measured steps towards the weeping and terrified young girl, he raised the gun that hung in his right hand. There was no other way, he reassured himself. Fiona, his wife, would never understand, but he knew with certainty that the story was manipulable. He would make sure that she only knew his side, however he decided to spin it._

_Taking aim, he watched with cold, dead eyes as she fought the urge to run, the need for flight leaving her quaking on her knees on the wet grass in front of him._

_“I’m sorry, Caoimhe. You know there’s no other way.” He said._

_The young girl shook her head and closed her eyes.“You just keep telling yourself that,” the ten-year-old replied. “Just tell my ma I love her. Kerri too.” She opened her eyes and met his gaze dead on. “Just do it.” she screamed._

_Jimmy took a deep breath and his finger pressed lightly against the trigger. The bullet whipped out of the gun, piercing the young girl through the chest. She crumpled onto the ground without a sound, blood pooling around her._

_It was done, he thought to himself._

_“Take the body to the river. Make sure there’s nothing left here.” He ordered the men standing behind her. He placed a hand on the shoulder of Caoimhe’s godfather as he turned. “On second thought, I think it’s best if you do it.” he said, a small smirk playing along the corners of his thin lips._

_The man attempted to remain stoic, tears fighting to present themselves down his cheeks. He nodded and Jimmy moved on, back towards the car parked waiting on the verge by the fence._

_He walked unsteadily towards the body of the girl that he had helped raise, the girl that he had sworn to protect after her father was forced to flee. Kneeling down beside her, he gathered her close, whispering a prayer. “Solas Mhic Dé ar a n-anam.”_

_As he held the small body close, he felt a tiny movement in the girl’s chest. Pulling her away from him slightly, he saw her chest was moving in small rapid breaths. “Jesus Christ,” he whispered. Sending a prayer of thanks towards the darkened sky, he swung the girl gently into his arms._

* * *

_Jimmy walked through his front door with a satisfied gait to his step. Fiona was settling Kerrianne down to sleep, the young girl was tired out from the constant vibes of worry and stress that were emanating from her mother._

_Upon seeing her husband hovering in the doorway, she kissed Kerrianne lightly on the forehead and stepped out of the room, closing the door behind her._

_“Have you heard anything about Caoimhe?” She asked, a little hope shining in her eyes._

_“No, love. Nobody’s seen her.” Jimmy lay his hands on Fiona’s shoulders, running them gently up and down her upper arms. “But I promise you, we will find her. And whoever is responsible.”_

_Fiona gulped back a sob, nodding, before pressing her forehead to Jimmy’s collarbone. He wrapped his arms around her back, kissing the top of her head. As he held his wife close, he began mentally flipping through the list of people he held in contempt, looking for a scapegoat._

* * *

_Not too far away, in a small room at the back of a nondescript pub, Seamus O’Reilly laid his goddaughter down on the decrepit bed and began searching through the bag that he had hurriedly collected from his apartment. As soon as he found what he was looking for, he began to clean and bandage the bullet wound that marred the girl’s upper chest. Had anyone else gone to collect her supposed corpse, they too would have notice that the wound was too close to her collarbone to have been instantly fatal, and as luck would have it, it had turned out that the bullet had passed by any of her vital organs. She would have a long recovery period, but there would be little permanent damage other than the scar that would adorn her chest for the rest of her life, a constant reminder of just what family was capable of._

_Knowing that Jimmy would demand to see proof of the disposal of the body, Seamus wrapped Caoimhe in one of his old sweatshirts, covering the bandages that he had put in place, and pulled her jacket on over the top. He would carry her down to the water’s edge, take photographic proof of her position and proceed from there to find her safe passage out of the country and into the safety of her father’s protection._

_Just as he was loading the unconscious girl into his backseat, his phone rang. Glancing at the number that was flashing across the screen, he braced himself for a new list of demands and answered._

_“Seamus?” he heard Jimmy enquire._

_“I’m here.” He was forcing his voice to remain even and not betray any of the bone-quaking rage that he harboured towards the man._

_“I need one more favour. Make her match her da.” And with that, Jimmy hung up._

_“Shit!” Seamus all but roared. He didn’t want to mar the girl’s young and beautiful face, but he knew that he had little to no choice. “Please forgive me, brother.” he muttered, as though Telford could hear him. His daughter would make it to him relatively safely, that seemed to be all that he could succeed in._

* * *

_There was a blinding pain that ripped across her cheek and brought Caoimhe out of unconsciousness. Her eyes flew open and she took in the hulk of a man leaning over her, blade in hand._

_“Uncle Seamus?” she whispered, tears springing from under her lashes._

_“Ah, love. I know. I’m gonna get you out, you hear me? We’ll get you to your da. But you have to let me do the other side. Jimmy’s orders. He’ll know something’s up if I don’t.”_

_The young girl curled up into herself, nodding. She understood the reasoning behind that, and as of yet, she was not too conscious of the way that she looked. “Okay. Just promise that it’s gonna be okay.”_

_“I promise, baby girl. I promise."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet again, I'm using song titles to head the chapters. I feel that music helps to set the scene and the atmosphere, so they are songs that I found relevant or ones that aided the writing of each chapter. Please feel free to give them a listen - if my opinion has any sway, I feel that they are great songs!
> 
> First in this story is 'End of All Days' by Thirty Seconds to Mars, from their 2013 'LOVE LUST FAITH + DREAMS' album. I love the whole album, but this song really gives the feeling of the end of an era, if not a life, and I felt that this applies in both meanings to this prologue. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy! Reviews and CC are always welcome. x


	2. 'Breakdown'

No one really noticed as the young woman climbed down off the bus that had brought her down from Indian Hills and finally set foot in the small town of Charming, California. This arrival had been nine years in the making; she had been hopping from club to club, charter to charter, each move bringing her closer to her final destination.

The bus stop was located by the local town diner, and peering in, she noticed a small group of men in kuttes seated around one of the booths in the corner. Needing the intel that probably only they could provide, she took a deep steadying breath and pushed open the door.

The faint tinkling of the bell hanging above the door jamb heralded her entrance, though few people moved to appraise the newcomer. A smiling waitress bustled over, grabbed a menu and came to halt in front of her.

“Table or booth?” she asked.

Caoimhe sighed with vague relief, the comments of her lone presence having been avoided for the first time in the whole trip down. It had been many years since she had travelled alone, but had decided to make the last leg of her journey on her own, feeling that arriving amongst a hoard of seasoned bikers could well attract attention that she was prepared to handle.

“Booth by the window, please,” she said, her soft voice contrasting considerably with her hardened exterior. Many eyes were immediately drawn to the unsightly scars that ran the width of both her cheeks, forming a constant joker grin, upon introduction, and she had learned to dress to match the assumptions that people drew from the remnants of violence that lay for the world to see. She was clad in well worn faded black jeans that bore rips across the knees, a loose fitted cropped tank top with tassels that hung down across the bare stretch of midriff that the top left uncovered and a back that lay open showing off her flawlessly pale skin; on her feet were high-heeled biker boots, complete with buckles. Her large shoulder bag was made of a soft black leather, and bore enough silver studs to appear menacing. Her dark hair was piled on top of her head in a messy up-do, and aviators balanced on her nose, hiding dark hazel eyes that were framed by bold winged liquid eyeliner along her upper lash line, and shadowed by expressively arched eyebrows that matched her near-black hair.

The woman nodded, seemingly unaffected by the girl that stood in front of her. “Is the one over there okay, hon?” she asked, pointing towards the one behind the group of bikers.

“That’s perfect,” Caoimhe said with a small smile.

She was led over and settled with the menu and the promise of a large mug of strong black coffee. Keeping an ear out for the conversation of the men in near proximity to her, she pushed her aviators back onto the top of her head and scanned the list of food items and decided on scrambled eggs and bacon on toasted sourdough with aioli, and a side of avocado and grilled tomato. It had been a while since she had had a substantial meal, travelling long distance by coach not necessarily agreeing with her stomach.

The waitress returned with a steaming mug of rich black coffee, and proceeded to take Coaimhe’s order. Having done so, she left with a cheerful “I’ll have that right out, hon” and Caoimhe picked up the oversized mug in both hands and began to sip away at the dark liquid.

The club members behind her were participating in a gleeful debate on the skills of the new arrived crow-eaters. Caoimhe couldn’t help but smirk a little at the name the girls had earned for themselves, surely ‘sweetbutts’ - as used by many of the clubs further north - was a little less derogatory in nature, though, she supposed, if that was your chosen station in life, it mattered little what the men you served referred to you as.

“That blonde, the one with those massive tits?” one was saying. The others all grunted in acknowledgement. “Whoa. She has got a mouth on her, let me tell you.”

“Aye,” a Scottish voice piped up. “She looked like she might.” Caoimhe inhaled suddenly, choking on the coffee that she had not yet had time to swallow, unfortunately drawing the attention of the men sat behind her.

One patted her back a little as she turned round to apologise. He was younger than the rest, sporting darker skin - most likely Hispanic, she thought - and a mohawk cropped close to his head.

“You alright there, doll?” A man with crazy wild grey hair and a beard that completely took over the lower portion of his face and lay against his black silken shirt and leather kutte. He was sat across the table facing towards her, with a seemingly slightly younger man with piercing blue eyes and a mop of crazy dark hair to his left. Directly in front of him was the man who had pounded her back as she choked, next to him was a man who had yet to turn around.

He had almost shoulder length dark hair that was streaked with grey, slicked back against his neck. As he turned, Caoimhe’s gaze was drawn immediately to the scars that were raggedly drawn across his cheeks. A smile began to spread across her lips as she put the pieces of the puzzle together.

“Jesus,” the man muttered as he took her in, his eyes too resting on the scars that echoed his own. He noticed immediately that she was almost the spitting image of his mother - god rest her soul - and those scars were too familiar to be truly coincidental… If he hadn’t been brought the news that his daughter had been killed so many years ago, he might have thought…

“Hey, Da.” Caoimhe said, a smile fully formed on her face, highlighting her scars. Her eyes gently swam with tears of joy, having finally found the man that she had spent the past nine years working to meet.

“Caoimhe?” Chibs could barely force the words around the lump in his throat. Confusion swarmed through his mind. “I don’t understand…”

“It’s a really long story,” she choked out, tears finally forcing their way out down her cheeks.

Chibs jumped to his feet and spun around the barrier between the two booths, gathering his estranged daughter in his arms and gripping her close to him tightly. “Holy mother of Christ, lass.” Unchecked, tears spilled down his own cheeks.

His three brothers were sat in stunned silence, watching the interaction between the two people in front of them. Finally one of them cleared their throat, drawing the reunited father and daughter apart.

“Does anyone want to introduce us?”

Chibs cleared his throat hastily, wiping the rogue tears from his cheeks. “Sorry brothers. This is.. Uh, this is Caoimhe. One of my daughters.” He couldn’t peel his gaze away from his daughter’s face, afraid that if he so much as blinked, she would disappear from in front of his eyes. “Caoimhe, these guys are Bobby, Tiggy and Juice. They’re in the same MC as I am.”

Caoimhe laughed, “I was raised around MC’s, Da. I know what the term ‘brother’ means.”

Bobby raised his eyebrows, out of the three sat in the booth, he had known Chibs the longest and if he remembered correctly… “Wait a second, Chibby. Caoimhe? Didn’t you say that she had been killed, say, ten years or so ago?"

Chibs’ eyebrows twitched, “I did.” Turning back to his daughter, he wrapped an arm around her neck. “You got a lot of explaining to do, lassie.”

He pulled her with him into the booth with the other three, seating her next to Juice and grabbing a chair from a neighbouring table. The four men then proceeded to stare at her expectantly.

Caoimhe turned to her father, “It’s not really something I want to discuss in public.” When the other three moved to protest, she held up her hand. “I get that it could be classed as club business. You guys don’t know me from Eve, I get that. But right now, I want to eat. I’ll come back with you after and explain of that’s what you want, Da. But I haven’t had proper food since about three days ago. That’s all that’s on my mind right now.”

Chibs grunted his assent, and leaned back in his seat, still unable to look away. “Jesus Christ, lass. You look…” He shook his head. “I just… I can’t believe you’re alive.”

Caoimhe laughed, “I’m looking pretty good for a dead chick, hey? Yeah, I’ve heard that.” She shook her head, the laughter leaving her eyes as suddenly as it had arrived. “But, uh, I almost wasn’t. Alive, I mean.” She shrugged a little. “Long time ago.”

In a sudden bustle, the waitress returned with Caoimhe’s food. “Making some friends, hon?” she said, flashing a smile at the men surrounding her youngest patron.

“Something like that,” Chibs said, moving to the side to make room for the plate to be set on the table. “Thank you,” he said, taking the check.

“Da,” Caoimhe said, fork already in hand. “I can pay.”

Chibs pointed a semi-playful finger at her, “You can eat. I think I’ve waited long enough to buy my daughter breakfast.”

She ran a hand nervously over her hair, smoothing it, as she watched her father pull out a series of bills from his wallet and place them on the small tray that the check had been presented on. Noticing this, Chibs pushed her plate closer to her and reached over to the neighbouring booth to grab her coffee mug off the table and placed it in front of her. “Eat.”

She nodded and began assembling the food on her plate. Spreading the avocado over the toast, she looked up to find - yet again - that the men were watching her carefully. “You guys can carry on with whatever you were talking about. I can block my ears when it gets R rated if you like.” She watched in amusement as all four suddenly became vaguely embarrassed. Juice’s ears went red, and he dropped his gaze to his lap where he was nervously playing with the hem of his t-shirt. Bobby had whipped his glasses uncomfortably from his face and had proceeded to scrub the lenses clean with the tail of his shirt; Tig simply sat there with a vaguely nervous looking grin directed at Chibs, who had finally torn his gaze away from his daughter’s face and was engrossed in stacking the coins that lay on top of the bills he had previously lain out.

Suppressing a grin, Caoimhe went back to prepping her food, spreading aioli over the avocado and layering bacon and egg liberally over that. As she dug into the food, the four men began to attempt to fill the now awkward silence.

“So, we’ll need to call church for this afternoon,” Bobby said, placing his glasses back on to his nose. “If it’s alright with you, brother, I think we’d all like to hear the story behind your daughter’s appearance.”

“Aye, it’s fine with me, lads. I get the feeling you won’t want to repeat it.” The last directed at Caoimhe, who blushed a little, having been caught with her mouth full, and shook her head fervently. She had spent the past nine years dodging as many questions about her past as humanly possible, aware that her lack of sharing ability had cost her in terms of trust - and therefore travelling opportunities. But she had finally made it to Charming, the place where she knew she would be as safe as she possibly could be, and she felt that if anyone deserved to hear the truth of what was going on back in Ireland, it was her Da and whoever else he wanted to know.

Swallowing hard and hastily, she muttered “It’s not really something I like to relive.”

Chibs and Bobby both nodded in understanding, the latter pushing Tig out of the booth so that he could exit. “I’ll go and give Clay a call; see what I can arrange.”

Tig followed him out towards the bays where their bikes were parked to assist in rounding up their fellow club members, but Juice remained behind.

The three sat in silence whilst Caoimhe cleared her plate, and once this was done and she had picked up her coffee mug, Caoimhe attempted to kickstart a conversation.

“So,” she said, turning to Juice. “You seem to be a bit younger than the others. You been in the club long?”

Juice chuckled a little as Chibs rolled his eyes, “A bit younger? I’m gonna take offence at that,” he said, dodging a ball of paper aimed at his head courtesy of his older brother. “Uh, not long. A year, maybe a little longer?” He looked down at the mug in front of him, trailing a finger around the rim. “I moved down from Queens, New York, just after graduation, took a moment to find my feet here and then began prospecting. A year and a half later, I finally got patched in.”

“You raised in an MC?” she asked.

Juice shook his head. “No.”

“How come the draw to the club?”

"My uncle ran a garage close to where I grew up, so I spent a lot of time watching him fix cars and shit up. Guess I always took an interest in the bikes.”

“That’s cool.” Caoimhe said, raising her mug to her lips and taking a large sip.

Before Juice to reciprocate with any questions, Bobby came bursting back into the diner.

“Clay’s calling for church in twenty. Guess the new arrival caught his attention."

Chibs nodded and motioned for his two younger companions to finish up with their drinks. This they did, and both slid out of the booth, brushing briefly against each other as they straightened. Chibs noticed a faint blush cross his daughter’s cheeks, and watched as Juice hastily lowered his gaze to a patch of floor just in front of his booted feet. He would have to keep an eye on that.

Caoimhe noticed her father’s watchful gaze and threw a softly innocent smile his way, watching as his eyebrows contracted slightly before he nodded and, placing a hand in the small of her back, led her out towards the bikes.

Unbeknownst to Caoimhe, Chibs shot a warning look at Juice over her head, and the younger man’s face flushed a slightly darker red than it already was. Chibs had just had his daughter returned to him and he would be damned if he let anyone steal her away any time soon.

Coming to a halt by the four bikes, Chibs glanced at the seating on all of them, realising with a slight sickness in the base of his stomach, that Juice’s was the only one with the capacity to carry a passenger safely - he refused to think of his daughter ‘riding bitch’. He grunted slightly, noticing that Juice was also aware of this fact.

“I can take her, man.” Juice said, a little nervous tremor developing in this voice - Chibs was not entirely sure of the cause of this, but he hoped for the boy’s sake that it was fear of himself and not the thought of having Caoimhe pressed against him. “She’ll be safe, I promise.” Juice added, noticing his older brother’s hesitation.

Chibs nodded sharply, pressing a hand to the small of his daughter’s back, kissing the top of her head. “We’ll see you at the clubhouse, lass.”

Caoimhe smiled gently, nodding a little. “Sure, Da. See you there.”

Chibs jumped onto his bike and, along with his other two brothers, kicked up the kick-stand and roared off down Main Street, leaving bewildered tourists staring after the three speeding figures as they climbed back on board the bus to continue down to the coast.

Juice hesitated for a moment, watching as Caoimhe’s eyes followed her father until he disappeared around a corner. She then looked towards him and gave him a sweet soft smile.

“So…” she said.

Juice laughed, “Yeah. I guess it would be good to maybe know each other a little better… It’s kind of an intimate situation to be in.”

A shy rush of colour swept across her cheeks, disappearing as quickly as it had arrived. She thrust a hand out in front of her. “I’m Caoimhe. But a lot of the bikers I met could only handle “Kay”.”

Juice grinned widely, “What about your friends?”

She seemed taken a little aback by the question. Lowering her eyes to the ground and scuffing the toe of her boot against the curb, she murmured, “It’s been a while since I had one of those.” Looking back up at him she continued, “So I guess it’s whatever you think you can handle.”

There was a slight challenge glinting in the corner of her eye, and Juice had never been one to pass a challenge up.

“Caoimhe means ‘beautiful’, right?” A slight smirk lifted the corner of his lip.

Her hand flew up to trace the scars that ran across her cheeks, shock prevalent in her eyes. “Yeah,” she all but whispered.

He shrugged, his smile reaching his eyes and lighting up his whole face, “I guess I can handle that.”

A short sharp burst of shocked laughter erupted from her chest, “Yeah, okay.”

He laughed a little at her sudden stumbling shyness, and motioning towards his bike, said “I think we’d probably better get going. I don’t really want your dad to have my ass.”

She laughed a little, “Yeah, me either.” Her cheekiness was finally back on form, and she threw a wink towards him as he handed her his helmet. When she began to protest, he tucked it under his arm and reached up to loosen her bun himself, catching her sunglasses as they slipped.

Once her hair was flowing freely down her shoulders, he took a moment to marvel in its silky softness as he swept it to the side and threw it into a loose braid. Shrugging off her questioning look, he muttered, “What? I’m not allowed to know how to braid hair?”

She shook her head a little, completely bewildered. “No… I mean, yes! What I mean…” She took a breath, “You’re pretty forward. You know that, right?”

He simply smirked as he handed her aviators back, and moved to place the helmet on top of her head. “I’ve been told once or twice.” He clipped the fastening closed and moved away to swing himself on to his bike, pausing a moment for her to follow his lead.

She did so after a second’s hesitation, looping her bag over her head to hang across her body and pushing it back so that it rested behind her on the seat.

“I haven’t ridden bitch on a bike for a while,” she warned him as she wrapped her arms loosely around his waist.

“What’s a while?” he asked.

She shrugged a little, thinking back. “Five years, I think.”

He laughed softly, “Hold on tight, beautiful.” And with that he revved up the engine and roared off down the road, drowning out any protest that she had in response to his compliment.

* * *

They roared to a stop in the lot of Teller-Morrow Automotive and Caoimhe took a moment to take in her new surroundings. Nerves were beginning to boil up in the bottom of her stomach now that she was firmly on the club’s territory. Her fate depended on whether they believed her story, and though the three members that she had met had seemed overly welcoming, she had heard from other clubs and charters that the SAMCRO President, Clay Morrow, was a unreasonable force to be reckoned with.

Juice walked the bike back into a gap in the line up along a set of railings that ran across the lot, and once the bike was at a stand still, he motioned for Caoimhe to climb off. He followed shortly after, having kicked down his kickstand.

There was a group of reasonably formidable looking men gathered around the entrance of the clubhouse, and when Caoimhe took a quick glance over her shoulder before moving off towards them, she noticed an middle-aged woman of obviously high stature glaring at her from the open doorway of an office off to the side of the garage. Moving her gaze hastily on, the mechanics stood around the massive open front of the garage caught her attention. They were all poised as though ready for trouble, one even resting his hand on the remote to close the grills, that hung from the ceiling on a thick cord.

Shaking her head slightly, she looked forwards again, realising that her father had stepped out of the ranks and was stood with his hand outstretched to her.

“Come on, lass. We haven’t got all day.” The comment was softened somewhat with a gentle smile that didn’t completely reach his eyes. It seemed as though the small timeframe of separation had allowed the cogs of doubt to begin whirring in his mind.

With Chibs’ hand in the small of her back and Juice walking a few steps in front of her, clearing the way, she was led in through the main room of the clubhouse, barely taking notice of the stocked bar or scantily dressed women who seemed to be hanging around, and towards a set of large oak wooden doors. Tig was positioned to the side of these, holding out an empty wooden box.

Caoimhe’s eyebrows knitted together slightly as she watched Juice reach into his pocket and deposit his cell phone into the box presented.

Reaching into the bag that hung by her side, she went to pull out her cell phone, but the men around her jumped to attention. In a matter of a split second, she had ten or more handguns pointed directly at her.

Hastily she put her hands up, either side of her head, her phone clutched in one. “Woah. I just assumed the box meant my phone too, sorry.”

Flicking a glance towards her father, she watched as he relaxed and closed his eyes for a split second. Fear had washed over his features, but there was no way for her to know what exactly had caused that. Was it maybe simply fear of danger for the club? Or was he maybe worried that someone might have to fire their weapon? More importantly, was he afraid that it would end up having to be him? She knew how some of the motorcycle clubs dealt with such delicate situations: choosing to keep it in the family.

Clay chuckled from behind the barrier of men who had jumped in front of him. “It does, sweetheart. But I’m gonna have to insist that your bag stays out with it.”

Caoimhe let out a breath that she had not been aware she was withholding as the guns around her were lowered and replaced back into their concealed holsters - or the backs of waistbands in many cases. Juice flipped her a small smile as he opened the doors in front of them.

Caoimhe placed her bag down behind Tig to the side of the doors, and crouched down to draw out a manila folder. Turning, she addressed Clay. “Can I bring this in?” she said, holding up the folder. At his questioning look, she hastily continued. “It’s just a little paper proof to back up what I’m about to tell you. I knew that it would be more than just my Da that I’d have to convince.”

In all honesty, it had actually been the Intelligence Officer residing with the Nomads in Indian Hills. Rane Quinn had set the two of them up in the back office of his bar and allowed them access to a computer and printer, in order to piece together the proof of her past.

Clay nodded. “Smart move, little girl.”

She smiled through the niggling irritation at the condescending tone in the older man’s voice. He moved through the crowd of people, past her and in through the doors. Chibs caught her around the waist again, leading her into Chapel and towards his designated seat at the table. He sat in the chair positioned there and motioned for her to stand behind him as all of the other men sat down.

Tig entered last, closed the doors firmly behind himself and moved to sit on Chibs' left hand side, directly on the right hand side of Clay, who was seated at the top of the table. As he sat down, he whipped out a packet of cigarettes and offered one to both Clay and Chibs, both of whom were currently lighting up their own. Before he took one himself, he offered the packet to Caoimhe, who glanced quickly towards the back of her father’s head before smiling at Tig and taking one. She leant over Chibs’ shoulder to grab his lighter from the tabletop, and the majority of the table attempted to cover a laugh when he threw her a heartily disapproving look.

“You’re too young for shit like that, lass,” he muttered.

She let out a short laugh. “You tell that to Uncle Seamus. He was offering them to me before I was ten.”

Chibs grunted a little, rolling his eyes and turning to face the table again. “Yeah, well. He shoulda known better.”

Caoimhe shrugged gently as she happily drew in a drag from the cigarette in her fingers, allowing the nicotine to spread a sense of calm through her body.

Clay cleared his throat, demanding the attention of all of those in the room. “Now I know that we have business to discuss as always, but as you will all be able to tell, there is something a little more pressing that needs our attention first. If that’s alright with all of you, I’m gonna leave it to her to explain.” He waited to hear the mumbled affirmatives from his men before motioning towards Caoimhe. “Why don’t you start at the beginning, sweetheart."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, second in the playlist for this story is 'Breakdown' by Jack Johnson. A truly beautiful song. If you listen to the lyrics, it's more about wishing for the chance to get to know somewhere unknown rather than actually arriving in a new town, but it has a fantastically hopeful feeling and it helped me write this chapter - so I thought it was appropriate.
> 
> As always, I would love to hear back from you - what you love, what you hate, what you "eh", whatever. I would love to hear it all. 
> 
> I really hope you enjoy! x


	3. 'Who Am I'

Caoimhe took a moment to look around the room acquainting herself with all of the men’s faces before beginning, ordering her thoughts so that she could be sure that the story that she’d waited so long to share was word perfect. The slight sense of familiarity with them all after this, made it slightly easier to impart the details that she was going to have to.

She placed a hand gently on Chibs’ shoulder, taking a breath to calm herself, waiting until he wrapped his fingers around hers in a comforting manner.

“I guess the very beginning is as good a place as any to start,” she began, a slight tremor in her voice. Her nerves were bouncing off the walls of her skull, pressing in on her chest, causing her fingers to dance a little under Chibs' hand. “My name is Caoimhe Larkin-Telford. I’m Filip’s daughter,” she shook her head a little as she took in the vague looks of confusion that floated around the table. “Chibs’ daughter. Sorry,” she laughed nervously. “Last time I saw him it was before the scars - for both of us, he was known by his Christian name. I don’t know how many of you know my Da’s story, but I guess I need his in brief to start mine, so I'm gonna have to ask you to bear with me.

"Da was forced to leave Ireland, and his family, behind by a few members of the IRA a number of years ago. My knowledge on the how and the why is pretty sketchy - no one really talked about it when I was growing up. One of them - the ring leader, I guess you could say, Jimmy O’Phelan, left his mark - a Glasgow smile - to prove a point. But he also took my Ma as his game prize. My sister and I were included in that by default. The last time I saw Da, I was - what, three?” Caoimhe looked to her father nervously, waiting for him to confirm it. This he did, nodding his head softly, tapping his lighter against the tabletop rhythmically with his spare hand.

“By the time I was four, Jimmy had somehow coerced my mother into marriage. He was not the kindest of men then, and I find it hard to believe that anything has changed in that respect. He really didn’t take well to back talk. I kind of learnt that the hard way, and so did my Ma. He, uh…” she stopped abruptly, swallowing hard.

Chibs could feel her much smaller hand shaking more violently in his own. He tightened his grip, drawing her fingers to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles and then moving to hold them to the side of his neck.

“It’s okay, lass. We gotta know.”

Caoimhe was aware that her father couldn’t turn around to face her like the others had done. She knew that he had all but guessed what she was about to tell them.

“He used to get pretty violent. I’m sure he still does. I remember he broke my sister’s arm a few days before our seventh birthday; laid my Ma up in hospital a number of times. I’ve got my fair share of scars from him - the obvious ones not included.” She paused again, grinding her teeth in an attempt to stem the tears that were threatening to escape. “But, uh… When I was eight or nine, he became pretty forceful in his relationship with my Ma. I think I knew what was going on, but who was I going to tell?”

Caoimhe passed a hand across her mouth, the shaking of her fingers prevalent to everyone in the room. Chibs closed his eyes, almost as if he knew what was coming next.

"One night, when I was ten, he came home after an unsuccessful run, pretty messed up, uh… And he... He,” The words stuck sharply in her throat, the years of attempted neglect at the back of her mind making them resistant and overly stubborn.

Caoimhe pressed her hand harder against the side of her father’s neck, the tremors travelling down her arm visible to every member around the table and causing her father to tighten his grip on her fingers. Catching her lip between her teeth, she fought back tears as she continued.

“He raped my mother.”

Chibs’ elbow hit the table, his head buried in his free palm.

"In front of both my sister and me.”

He let out a low sob, “Oh, lass. No.”

The man sat to his right reached out an arm and lay his hand on Chibs’ shoulder. No words came to the young, hairy biker, but then none were big enough to cover the immense sorrow that he and the club were feeling for the Scotsman and his daughter.

Clay was watching the interaction between the two brothers in silence, waiting until Chibs had reigned back his pain enough to subdue his infrequent gut-wrenching sobs, before nodding for Caoimhe to continue.

“It’s not really something you ever forget - believe me, I’ve tried. Kerrianne and I, we’re the same age, but I don’t think she quite figured out what was going on. She was just sat there with this bewildered look on her face. I just started screaming, yelling at him that I was going find a way to tell my Da. That once he knew, he was gonna come back and kill Jimmy for what he’d done to us, what he’d done to my family.” She let out a low humourless chuckle. “Unsurprisingly, he didn’t really take it too well.”

Still unable to look directly at any of the men at the table, Caoimhe’s eyes flitted around the room, taking in the repercussions that the Vice President’s bouncing knee was having on the rest of his body, Clay’s ringed fingers steepled in front of his mouth, Bobby’s constant readjustment of his glasses; finally coming to rest on Juice’s fist that was resting on the table in front of him. He was clenching and releasing it repeatedly, supposedly in an attempt to fight the urge to hit something.

She raised her gaze, following his taught jaw up to his eyes, and gave him a small smile. Finding the strength she needed buried deep in his chocolate brown eyes, she breathed in deeply.

“Jimmy roughed me up a bit and then left. He waited until night fall and came back, took me from my room. Ma hadn’t seen him come home and she didn’t see us leave. I think Kerrianne may have done, but she was always so terrified of Jimmy… There was no way that she would have found the words.

"He had me taken out into a field down by the river that ran just outside of our small town. He had members of the MC, SAMBEL I think, hold me still and he shot me.” Caoimhe raised a hand and brushed her hair over her shoulder, baring the circular scar just below her collarbone.

“He’s a pretty cocky son of a bitch. I don’t think it would have occurred to him that he may have missed, but any way he didn’t come and check I was dead, he just assumed I was. He sent my Uncle Seamus to deal with me. To torment him, I think. If he had sent anyone else,” she shook her head gently, “I wouldn’t be here.

“Anyway, after he realised I was still alive, he managed to get me to a safe place to patch me up a little. But, of course, he had to fake disposing of the body. That was when-” Caoimhe gestured vaguely at her face. “Jimmy called him, told him to make me match my Da. Uncle Seamus didn’t have a choice,” she added hastily as Chibs’ hand tightened considerably on hers. “Jimmy would have known. He would have known.”

Chibs nodded, his face still hidden in his hand. Caoimhe finally lost the battle with her emotions as one large tear welled up in her eye and fell down her cheek.

"He would have known." She muttered again, almost to herself this time, as she lay a hand gently on her father's bowed head.

“Seamus told me how Jimmy spun the story. The guy they pinned my disappearance on deserved everything he got, I know that much. He ran a child pornography studio. It was known on the street that the majority - if not all - of his talent never made it out. The IRA discovered a mass grave not too far away - obviously his dumping ground - and Jimmy told Ma that they had found me there."

Caoimhe shuffled her feet a little, somewhat uncomfortable from standing for so long. Dropping her eyes to her feet, she trained her gaze on the toes of her boots as she alternately scuffed them along the floor.

"It was a closed casket ceremony; no one knew that they were burying an empty coffin. They wouldn’t let Ma ‘see me’, claiming that the guy had maimed me in amongst the molestation, that she wouldn’t want to remember me like that. I think that was the last I heard of Ma and Kerrianne. I know that they went to the funeral, but after that they dropped off the grid."

Looking up, she caught Juice's eye again. He hadn't looked away at all, his gaze glinting with muffled fury; his fist was clenched tightly on the table top, the veins along the back of his hand straining against his caramel skin.

He offered her a tight smile, one that somehow allowed her to let in a lungful of air, which in turn caused the next few sentences to start unravelling from the condensed knot that they had worked themselves into in her mind.

“It took me a while to recover from the bullet wound. I was eleven by the time Seamus managed to get me passage on a cargo plane over here. I wasn’t actually here legally until a couple of years ago, but I was moving down the country constantly, maybe swapping MC every two or three months or so. I didn’t actually know where abouts in America Da had disappeared off too, and as you guys found out, I didn’t know him by Chibs. He was Filip Telford the last that anyone I knew heard of him.

"But I reached the Nomads in Cedar Ridge, Rane Quinn’s charter, and he recognised the surname - and the scars.”

Caoimhe let a small dry smile creep across her face. “I guess Jimmy almost did me a favour, eh Da?”

It was obvious to the club that she was attempting to lighten the mood a little, trying to get a smile to cross Chibs’ face, but he remained stoic - almost as though he didn’t trust himself not to lose it if he even so much as moved.

His fellow fathers around the table were taking to heart the situation that had been laid in front of them; none of them quite willing to imagine just what Chibs was going through.

Caoimhe realised that she had gained as much of a reaction out of her father as she was going to get with an almost unnoticeable shake of his head, and so she turned to Clay.

“I know how unbelievable this all must sound. I’m not expecting you all to just instantly believe me.”

She handed Tig the manila folder that she had earlier retrieved from her bag to pass on.

“In here is a copy of my birth certificate, my death certificate, my Irish passport from when I was a kid. If that’s not enough, I’m more than willing to take part in a DNA test. The rest… Go over to Ireland, ask Da, take a guess, call a friend; everyone will tell you how fucked up it is over there.”

Clay took the file from Tig, popping it open and pulling the documents out. There lay on top of the wad of pages a family photograph; Chibs was instantly recognisable, though considerably younger and free from the scars that maimed his cheeks. Next to him was a beautiful woman with dark skin, holding a young girl of perhaps two, with skin that lay midway between the woman’s and Chibs’.

Hanging off Chibs’ leg was a second child, perceivably the same age as the one in her mother’s arms, her wild dark hair flowing as she tossed her head back, smiling up at her father with clear adoration in her eyes. His hand was rested on the top of her curls and he was gazing down at the girl with a small smile on his lips.

Nodding a little, Clay handed the picture to the Vice President who, after scrutinising it with his piercing blue stare, passed it on to Bobby.

The older man pushed aside his boilermaker pitcher, running his hand across his beard as he regarded the battered photograph.

Juice peered over his shoulder, taking in every detail of the family on display. There was no denying that the young woman currently standing behind Chibs was an older version of the little girl swinging wildly from her father’s knee.

Clay regarded Caoimhe with an almost calculating stare. “So you say that - Kerrianne, is it?” When both supposed father and daughter nodded, he continued. “You’re both the same age, you say. Surely that would make you twins. So how come you have different skin tones?”

Caoimhe stood her ground, her eyes tightening as she stared down the Club President.

“My sister and I, we’re fraternal twins. We’re from two separate eggs, meaning that the mixing of parents’ genetics are unique from one another. We’re practically just sisters who happened to be born at the same time.”

Chibs smiled a little, “Aye, your ma always said that if she hadn’t been the one carrying both of you, she would have been suspicious. Always said you were too like me, too white, not enough black Irish in you to truly be related to her.” He hid a small chuckle in his palm.

Clay nodded, turning back to the papers spread out in front of him. There was little to no fault to find in the paperwork; the young woman had proved that she had been born, and supposedly died, as per her story. There was also little denying that she and Chibs shared strong similarities that were rare to find outside immediate family. The impeccably arched eyebrows, the dark hazel eyes and the dimples that appeared as they both spoke or smiled.

Leaning back in his chair, Clay gave an near-imperceptible nod in Chibs' direction before raising his eyebrows at Caoimhe, indicating the paperwork that his VP was obviously itching to get his hands on.

Chibs waved his hand a little, "Go for it, Jackie Boy."

Caoimhe was visibly taken aback by her father's immediate takeover of the situation at hand. Much as she appreciated his unquestionable acceptance of her and their familial bond, she felt that she would have to make it clear to him that she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself.

Juice caught her eye at the height of her indignation and offered a smile and a small one shouldered shrug. What can you do?

Seemingly still unimpressed, Caoimhe raised her eyebrows at him and crossed her arms over her chest.

Unbeknownst to her, all of the men on the opposite side of the table hastily had to catch themselves from staring too hard and too obviously at the way the action pushed her breasts upwards, highlighting those particular assets.

Chibs' eyes tightened questioningly as he watched his brothers' gazes suddenly fly away from the focal point behind him and drift around the room.

Turning back with a slight frown on his face, he appraised his daughter, noticing immediately what had caused the other men levels of certain discomfort.

"Ah, lass," he sighed a little. He had temporarily forgotten that all of the club members in the room were predominantly manly men, with testosterone levels rocketing through the roof. It was a way that he had never had to see them before, preying wolves on innocent flock.

He spun back around to face his brothers, a pointed finger raised in warning, the large gold ring adorning it flashing in the strips of sunlight coming through the blinds.

"And you," he said, glaring at each of them individually. "Better watch yourselves, aye? That's my daughter you're ogling."

Glancing up at Caoimhe as Chibs' cold gaze left him and moved onto Bobby and Jax, Juice noticed that a steady colour was climbing up her neck and cheeks, literally staining her in embarrassment.

"Da-" she started before being brought to an abrupt halt by her father's raised hand.

Without turning, Chibs addressed her. "No, lass. You're my daughter. You're here with me now and I'll be damned if I let anything happen to you."

A flash of anger crossed her features, her jaw tightening. She slapped a hand against Chibs' back, the audible crack resounding round the room.

"Da," she said, ice nearly dripping from the word. "I need to speak with you. Outside."

Smothering a smirk behind his bear-like paw, Clay nodded to Chibs, allowing him to leave the table momentarily.

The remaining men sat around the table in silence, each hiding degrees of mirth as the Scotsman finally met his match.

Closing the door behind him, Chibs led his daughter away towards the bar, waving a hand as she opened her mouth, before reaching for two shot glasses and a bottle of Auchentoshan 21 Year Old Single Malt Scotch Whisky.

Pouring two generous glasses, he pushed one towards his daughter and downed his little taste of heritage for comfort before signalling for Caoimhe's tirade to begin.

She tipped back the liquid courage, savouring the flavour on her tongue.

"There are a few things that you're going to have to understand," she began.

"First, I'm not the three year old that you left behind." She held a hand out to stop his indignation as it rose up to his tongue. "By choice or not, that's how it felt.

"Second," she continued, "There are things about my life that I pray to God you never know, things that have shaped who I am today, and I dealt with those on my own."

She touched the rim of her glass, watching as her father filled it to the brim.

"I'm fully capable of watching my own back. I've lived the last nine years of my life looking over my shoulder, and as you can see, I'm in one piece."

Caoimhe threw back her second shot, slamming the glass down, her voice rising even further.

"Third, I'm a big girl, okay? Don't think I didn't see the look you gave Juice earlier. It's got nothing to do with you who I get involved with. Believe me, if I want to fuck Juice then nothing you have to say is going to stop me."

Throwing her arm out to the side as if motioning to men as a collective, she continued. "That goes for anyone else who may catch my interest too okay?"

She took a step forward so that she was immediately in front of the bar and directly opposite Chibs, who was leaning on the countertop with his hands clasped in front of him.

"I've survived without a father present in my life for this long. I really don't need you overstepping the mark."

Chibs nodded slightly, pain clearly written in his dark eyes. "I know that, lass. But do you think you could cut me some slack for a wee while? I just got you back from the grave. That's gonna take a moment to get my head around." He shrugged. "I've only ever really been a father to two wee toddlers. My 'Da' hat's a little dusty, alright?"

Caoimhe took in the sadness that has enveloped Chibs' face, a feeling akin igniting in her stomach.

"I guess my daughter hat's a little dusty too." She said quietly.

Straightening up and rounding the bar in a couple of strides of his long legs, Chibs swept Caoimhe up into his arms and buried his face in her hair.

She stretched up on her toes to wrap her arms around his neck, dropping a kiss lightly on his cheek. "I love you, Da."

He choked back a sob, "Oh, lass. I love you so much more."

Squeezing her a little tighter, he closed his eyes.

"I can't tell you how happy I am to see you, baby girl. Thank you for coming home to me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This next song is by Vance Joy, from his 'Dream Your Life Away' album.   
> The title is pretty self-explanatory I think, but it is also a fantastic song.  
> As always, please let me know what you think - CC is forever welcome!  
> X


	4. 'The American Dream'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in this update. Life has honestly taken over the past few weeks, and it doesn't look like it will be letting up any time soon - not that I'm complaining, as I'm finally getting to do what I want to! - but I will work a little harder to fit in some writing time and hopefully have updates up a little more frequently than I have.  
> Thank you so much to those of you that have commented and followed, it really is great to hear back from you.

There was little to do with Club life that she didn’t agree on, having been subject to it for the majority of her life - even depending on it for the most part. The sense and ideals of brotherhood and family being deeper than blood were morals that she could easily get behind; knowing that there would always be someone would always be there to back you up, and most likely to aid and abet whatever mischief you involved yourself in. She even believed in the punishments of traitors and those not so dedicated as some. But the one thing that really crawled up under her skin was the separation of the sexes. As far as she was concerned - and from what she knew, she was along with the rest of the twenty-first century - girls were just as capable as boys; in fact, in many cases, they were better.

But within the club, that was not the case. Men rode motorcycles, women rode bitch. That was the way it had always been done, and there was not a doubt in her mind that that was the way things would continue.

Caoimhe blew out an frustrated sigh and glanced - not for the first time - at the clock above the Clubhouse bar. Chibs had been in the Chapel for the past fifteen minutes. How long did it really take for a group of men, a group of fathers and sons, to come to a conclusion of whether or not a father and his child could finally be together after so many years? The whole performance was a waste of time in her book - or at least, on this side of the door, that was how it seemed.

Finally after a moment or two of unrelenting foot-tapping, the Chapel door opened a little and Chibs stuck his head through the gap.

“C’mon in, lass,” he said, jerking his head towards the room behind him in invitation. “We’re ready for you.”

Straightening her top and running a hand through her tousled curls, Caoimhe stepped towards her father and the impending knowledge of her fate. He stood to one side until she had passed by him before closing the door and returning to his seat. She returned to her previous place standing behind him, facing the rest of the table.

She noticed that Juice’s ears were quite seriously tinged with pink and that he was refusing to meet her or Chibs’ gaze. Caoimhe closed her eyes and briefly prayed to a God that she didn’t believe in that the doors of the Chapel were soundproofed; she knew that she hadn’t exactly been subdued when calling her father out in the bar.

Bobby still had a wide Cheshire Cat grin plastered over his face as he eyed Juice out of the corner of his eye, but once he met Caoimhe’s gaze over the Redwood, it evolved into a hearty chuckle.

“You put him straight on a few things, darlin’?” he asked, a humorous glint in his eye as he nodded towards Chibs.

Jax interrupted, a slight leer on his lip. “We all know that, Bobby.” He leaned back in his chair, arms on the armrests and let loose a course laugh.

_Shit_ , she thought. _Those bloody doors aren’t fucking soundproof_. She could feel the colour rising through her cheeks and she lowered her eyes once again to the floor, watching as her boot swung and the toe scuffed along the worn wood. Scrunching her nose up a little, she allowed the embarrassment to take her over completely.

Clay cleared his throat, attracting the attention of the table once again.

“Alright, boys. Settle down.”

The men surrounding the table began to smother their laughter with their hands, most throwing a glance in Caoimhe’s direction as they fought for control over their smiles. She felt a small smile cross her lips as she caught the eye of the eldest member of SAMCRO, who had continued to chuckle softly. He passed her a wink over his son’s head - there was no denying that those two were related.

“So, we have something to discuss with you,” Clay began, catching her in his gaze like a rabbit caught in headlights.

This had been the moment she had been truly dreading; not finding her father and risking pure rejection, not recounting her past in front of a room full of strangers and seeing their faces change as the story progressed, but the results of the vote. Her fate had once again been passed into the hands of unknown bikers without her consent, she had been left to hang in the balance whilst they decided what was best for her.

“We’ve had a vote. That how we run things. We’re a democracy here.” He bared his teeth in what she supposed was meant to be a smile, but came across as more threatening than anything else.

She nodded. “I assumed as much. I mean, that’s how SAMBEL and the other charters are run, right?”

Chibs nodded in reply.

“Well, let’s get down to it,” Clay said. “We’ve done some thinking and it appears to be that we are permitting you to remain in Charming for the foreseeable future. Under a number of conditions, you understand.”

Caoimhe felt a massive smile split across her face in slow-motion. She’d had little doubt that this would be the result of the men’s “thinking time”, but there had still been a part of her that had remained unconvinced.

“We’re going to demand a paternity test.” Jax took over from his president. “Chibs here is sure that you are indeed the three-year old he saw last, but the club has to be one hundred percent certain that we know who we let into our homes.”

She nodded, reaching over her father’s shoulder to grip his hand. He squeezed her fingers so tightly that there was momentary blood loss in the tips, but she couldn’t have cared less. She was being given the chance to get to know her father; not from a photograph and a number of old stories that were flung around the SAMBEL Clubhouse on occasion, or from the news headlines concerning the Sons of Anarchy, but in person. There was nothing that she had ever wanted more.

Perhaps, had she not been so overjoyed at the prospect of finally knowing her Da, Caoimhe may have given oxygen to the embers that burned in her stomach, and would have been fully encompassed by the inextinguishable flicker of rage and frustration that she held dear for the misogynistic ways of the biker world.

“Second,” Clay continued. “You’re going to be staying with Chibs. You will be accompanied by a member of the Club whenever you are not at home, and we’re going to ask that you work in the garage - paperwork most likely - as a way of paying your dues, if you will.”

She closed her eyes and nodded. None of that seemed overly unreasonable for what she was getting in return. At least, that was what she kept telling herself, confident in the fact that the men were buying her front, and hopeful that even she might eventually believe it. Upon opening her eyes, she met Clay’s gaze and he once again flashed her his fearfully toothy grin.

“Alright, sweetheart. I’m gonna have to ask you to leave and wait outside until Chapel is done.”

Caoimhe nodded in his direction, collected her papers from Tig and left the room, closing the door softly behind her. Collecting her bag and returning her folder to its previous home, she turned and faced the clubhouse. Taking it all in for the first time, she realised that it was a spacious main room, complete with sofas, a pool table and a bar. A few people were lingering around, a young looking woman - perhaps a year or two older than Caoimhe herself - had taken up residence behind the bar and was polishing the glasses that lay behind it. Two others had set up the pool table and were part way through a game.

Caoimhe headed to the bar and took a seat on one of the stools that sat in front of it. The crow-eater looked up at her and offered a vague smile.

“You must be Scotty’s kid,” she said amicably.

Caoimhe shot her a tight smile back, “Yeah, looks like.”

“Can I get you a drink?”

“Two shots of scotch and a beer would be awesome.”

“We’ve only got Miller.”

Caoimhe shrugged half-heartedly. “To be completely honest, I just need some alcohol in my system.”

The girl tossed her luscious blonde curls back over her shoulder and let out a delicate laugh. “I know exactly how that feels.”

* * *

An hour or so later, Caoimhe had successfully worn a dent into the footrest of the barstool that she was perched on, and the toe of her left boot appeared slightly more tarnished than it had before.

She spun around in her seat as she heard the large doors of the Chapel swing open, creaking slightly on their aged hinges.

Chibs was the first out into the main room as the men exited, and he headed straight over to the bar to stand alongside his daughter.

“You ready to go, lass?” He asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

Caoimhe nodded, tipped back her last shot and, throwing a smile over her shoulder at the girl behind the bar, followed her father out into the Californian sunshine.

Flipping her sunglasses down onto her nose, she adjusted the hair that was precariously balanced in a mess on top of her head.

“Are we riding, Da?” she asked, readjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder.

Chibs shook his head and pointed towards a pick up truck that was parked along the far wall of the garage lot. “No. We’re taking the club truck. Thought it would be easier than anything else.”

* * *

Chibs pulled up outside a bungalow that stood a little on the small side. It’s cream coloured panelling and ash shutters sang out bachelor, but at the same time appeared inviting and homely. The front yard was of equal proportion to the house and neatly kept, low cut grass and trimmed hedges with the occasional splash of seasonal flowers sprouting through.

He cut the engine of the battered truck and the silence resounded through the cab. He and Caoimhe sat in the companionable quiet for a moment before either spoke while she peered out of the passenger window at her new residing.

“It’s not much, I know, lass. But I haven't really needed much with only me.” Chibs shifted in the driver’s seat, turning to face his daughter and reaching across the bench seat to touch his fingers to the back of her hand.

She froze, immediately looking down at their hands as though not entirely sure what to do with such contact. After a pause, a small smile lifted the corner of her lips and she flipped her hand to take a hold of his.

“I’ve been living on the run for the past nine years, Da. It’s more than enough to just have found you.” Her voice caught a little in her throat, and he sensed that there was a lot about her time riding down the country that she was keeping from him.

He leaned across and lay a kiss on the top of her head. “I’m so glad you’re here, darlin’. I can’t find the words...”

She gripped his fingers a little tighter before wiping away any rogue tears from her cheek with her free hand.

“Come on,” he said eventually. “Let’s go and get you settled.”

She nodded, freeing him from her clutch and grabbing a hold of her bag before throwing the door open and sliding from the seat to the sidewalk.

He followed her lead, jogging around the front of the truck to meet her as she hovered by the start of the front path.

Caoimhe followed as he walked up to the front door, taking the steps a little slower than he did, hesitating for a split second as he unlocked the door and held it open for her to pass through.

Taking a breath, she stepped around him and entered the quaint looking house.

The main room that she found herself in was an open plan kitchen and living area, with a large comfortable black leather sofa directly in front of the door, facing the wall to the far left of the room. Between two large windows, a large flatscreen television hung on the wall above an antique fireplace. To the right, stretching from just past the centre of the room to the far wall lay the kitchen, with black marble top counters lining the walls and a large island nestled in the middle. All of the appliances were gleaming stainless steel, and the cabinets were painted a similar off-white to the walls. Above the sink on the back wall, a large window showed a reasonable sized deck, complete with table and chairs and a swinging wooden bench with red and white striped cushions thrown across it.

“Wow.” Caoimhe whispered. “This is not exactly your regular biker’s lair,” she said with a laugh as she turned to face Chibs who was still standing anxiously by the front door.

He laughed. “No, I suppose not. But you get enough of that at the clubhouse. And as much as I love it, it’s nice to come home to somethin’ a little different.”

She nodded, spinning again to survey the room in front of her.

Chibs crossed the room to the kitchen, planting his hands on the marble countertop of the island and looked across at her.

“Do you want anythin’, lass? Food, drink...?”

“A shower would be amazing,” she said with a smile continuing to face her lips.

“That can be arranged.” Chibs motioned to a door right at the other end of the room. "That there’s the bathroom. I’ll grab you a couple of towels.” This he did, pulling open the second door, one that stood a little closer to them. Caoimhe followed him into what she rightly assumed was his bedroom.

Again the colour scheme was minimal. The wooden floor and off-white walls continued through from the main room, and the large double bed as covered in a dusky grey cover with maroon throw pillows dotted around as though he had thrown them there haphazardly as he rushed out the door.

Chibs had moved to a small cupboard laid into the wall to the left of the door. He pulled out two large black fluffy towels and handed them to Caoimhe, who wrapped her arms around them, hugging the soft material to her.

He then led her out of the room and to the bathroom door. Pausing here, he looked down at her one, albeit large, bag.

“There’s shampoo and stuff in there, so help yourself.” He said, turning the handle and pushing the door open for her.

She thanked him with a small smile and closed the door behind her as he wandered off towards the kitchen in search of food.

* * *

Standing under the jet stream of hot water, Caoimhe tipped her head back and relished in the feeling of washing away her past few days on the road. Nothing much had happened in that time, but the weight of travelling and the anxiety that had knotted her stomach in prelude to meeting her father had done their best in aggravating her.

Running her hands through her hair, she reached for one of the bottles on the side. Having checked the various labels, she poured a decent amount of shampoo into her palm and began lathering it through her hair.

As expected, her fingertips brushed against the various scars that littered her scalp that he her hair concealed well. _The time Jimmy had found her swigging from a bottle of whisky that she’d taken from his liquor cabinet. The time that he’d come home drunk and she had startled him into pushing her into a side table._ The list went on. It wasn't until she reached a particularly jagged line that ran along the base of her scalp that her breathing hitched and she felt emotionally attached to any one of the reminders of her past. _The time that..._ She shook her head brutally. No. She wasn't going to allow herself to recall the story behind that one. Somethings were better left in the dark.

Forcing herself to regulate her breathing, she continued with her bathroom routine, reaching in turn for the conditioner and body wash, purposely avoiding any remnants of her past that were etched on her skin. It was time to finally put the past to bed.

Shutting off the water, she stepped out of the shower and reached for a towel to wrap around her body. Sitting on the cool tile floor, she began to towel dry her hair until it was nearly dry to the touch, before reaching for her bag that she had left by the door.

Pulling out her last clean pair of underwear and a light beige coloured cropped top, she once again donned her ripped black jeans, pulling on the top and sliding a grey kimono on over the top, that had large pale pink flowers entwined across the back. She decided, as she stood appraising herself in the mirror, that she seriously needed to bulk up her wardrobe.

Opening the door, Caoimhe headed out, leaving it ajar to allow the residual steam to dissipate.

Chibs was stood at the hob, watching over a bubbling pot and stirring it occasionally. He caught sight of Caoimhe as she approached the island and lifted herself onto one of the bar stools.

“It smells really good.” She said, resting her chin in her palm as she leaned on the marble surface.

“Thank you, lass.” He shrugged. “Just chili. Something easy so you can settle in.”

She smiled. “That sounds really good.”

“Well it’s nearly ready. Do you wanna grab a bowl for the chips, girl, and then a couple for us as well.”

“Sure.” Caoimhe slipped from the stool and began to make her way around the kitchen opening various cupboards in search of the crockery. Eventually, she opened a cupboard about half way around and found small piles of white, rustic looking plates and bowls. Grabbing three down, she paused.

 “Do you have any cheese?” she asked.

Chibs laughed, “‘Course I do. You want some with this?”

“Yeah, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all, lass.” He nodded his head towards the fridge that sat at the end of one of the benches. “There’s a fair selection in there. Have a rummage.”

She nodded and reached up for a fourth bowl. Carrying them over to deposit them next to Chibs, She made her way to the fridge and opened it, assessing the contents. After a moment of consideration, she pulled out a block of strong mature English cheddar, holding it up for Chibs’ approval.

“That looks good to me.” He said, returning to the bubbling pot in front of him.

Testing a small mouthful on the tip of the wooden spoon, he decided that it was done. Turning the heat off from under the pot, he pulled over two of the bowls that Caoimhe had brought out. He began to serve the chili, glancing out of the corner of his eye to watch his daughter grate some of the cheese into a bowl.

He was honestly flabbergasted that she was even here. The heartbreak that had tailed him since the news of her supposed death almost ten years ago, had weighed him down to the point where he began to understand for the first time the reasoning behind JT’s actions after his son had died not so long before.

The was a warmth in his chest that he had not felt in far too long a time, a wholeness that was beginning to fill the void in his chest left by his abrupt uprooting from his family. It went deeper than mere happiness, even beyond relief and overwhelming but optimistic disbelief at his daughter’s reappearance from the dead. It was the feeling of finally being alive again.

* * *

Father and daughter could be found an hour or so later, passed out on the couch in front of the television that was quietly playing through a showing of Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. The wreckage from their evening meal lay around them in the form of empty bowls and corn chip crumbs, and a half eaten bowl of popcorn.

Had anyone been looking in on the scene at that precise moment, it would have been impossible to tell that the two had been separated, comfortable as they were around each other in slumber.

* * *

An hour or so later, Chibs awoke. Looking over, he smiled gently at the sleeping form of his daughter.

_Jesus Christ_ , he thought. _I could say that all day. My daughter. She’s finally come home to me_.

With this thought prevalent in his mind, he eased himself off the couch and stooped to slide his arms under Caoimhe. He carried her through to his room, kicking the door open before him.

He laid her down on the bed and pulled the covers up around her, stroking his fingers gently through her hair before laying a kiss on her forehead.

She mumbled a little in reaction to this and snuggled herself deeper under the covers.

Chibs stood for a minute, looking on in a burst of fatherly love, before turning and padding his way softly out of the room.

As he reached the door, he turned back to pull it shut behind him and hovered again.

“Welcome home, baby,” he whispered. “Welcome to the American Dream.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up in this playlist is 'The American Dream' by Greg Holden, from his 'I Don't Believe You' album. Again, I'm taking a little leeway using this song... it is quite obviously a song about a man promising to protect his partner, but the sentiment is what I'm after and it;s a truly beautiful song. Definitely one of my favourites from this album!


	5. 'Break Your Heart'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I'm so sorry that it's been so long since my last update. I've been so stuck trying to write this chapter... This is about my tenth attempt, and I think it's finally viewable, but by all means let me know what you think!

It had been a good few nights since the young Irish woman had slept in anything that resembled a bed; even longer since such a thing had been comfortable. Sleeping sitting bolt upright or sheltering from the cold in an alley behind a barricade of what little protection she could find had never constituted comfort and rest, and clubhouse mattresses worn thin from overuse barely made for a good night’s sleep, though she had always been more than grateful to be offered a safe, warm and dry place to rest her head.

The one thing that Caoimhe had always found reassuring in such uncomfortable quarters, was that the constant tossing and turning - in or out of consciousness - warded off the half-remembered terrors that lurked in the dark.

Her recurring nightmares had continued to plague the hours of her attempted peace, flashbacks from the years long since passed and half a world away hounding her unconscious mind like Churchill’s ‘Black Dogs’.

The night that she had arrived in Charming was the first night that a new town offered safety, and that safety had lead to comfort. The unexpected luxury of excess food and welcoming company in the case of her father, followed by a soft mattress and a quilt that wrapped around her in the best substitute for a hug that she had had in years, had pushed her into a coma-like state. This level of unconsciousness on her body’s part had allowed her brain to recharge for once and, in doing so, had set free all the shadows that her lifestyle had given her the opportunity to lock away.

To look at her as she was in slumber, you would not know that such terrors were raging through her mind, the only slight giveaway was the faintest trace of a frown between her brows and the constant and rapid movement of her eyes behind their closed lids.

Memory after memory flashed through her mind, from snippets and momentary snapshots from her younger years to the drawn out and over-analysed minutes of those more recent.

She could hear the unmistakeable and resounding crack of Kerrianne’s arm snapping back on the edge of the table as Jimmy threw her to the floor in a fit of rage; she could see the shades of defeat in her mother’s eyes as Jimmy thrust his balled up fist into the steadily forming bruises that already littered her cheekbone; she could feel Kerrianne shaking in her arms as she cried herself to sleep, the night unknown due to the frequency of such a lullaby; she could taste the rage and hate on her own tongue as promises of revenge and retribution flew from her lips as Jimmy abused their mother; she could smell the richness of the dew-covered growing barley, heavily under-toned by the metallic tang of her own blood as she fell back onto the rain softened ground.

But the moment that haunted her most was the steady movement of his hand as it glided down her body, caressing curves she had yet to appreciate, and what followed taking what was rightfully hers to give.

Caoimhe found herself jolting awake, bathing in rivulets of cold sweat that ran down her skin and sent shivers down her spine. A shout erupted from her lips and she found herself calling for her parents for the first time in years.

Within seconds, Chibs was flying through the bedroom door, clad only in boxers and socks with his beloved Beretta PX4 in hand.

“Caoimhe, lass!” He yelled out as the door swung back to collide with the wall.

The resounding crack caused the girl to visibly flinch and press herself back harder into the cushions behind her.

Chibs stood poised in full blown panic mode for a moment more, pivoting in the doorway to cover all possible directions with the barrel of his pistol, before concluding that there was no immediate threat present. He dropped his hands to his sides, resting his empty one on his hipbone and bent forwards a way, dragging in deep breaths.

“Jesus Christ, lass!” He panted. “Way to give your old man a heart attack.” He straightened slightly, the glint of humour that rarely left his eyes prominent. With his eyes closing, he popped loose the joints in his back and ran a hand haphazardly through his hair. “Ugh-” he cleared his throat, giving one last attempt to catch his breath before turning to face his daughter. “I really need to cut back on the fags.”

A split second later, any sign of humour dropped from his face as he took in the sight of his daughter. She hadn’t moved from her tensed up fetal position against the large pillows throughout the whole of the interaction. Her dark curls were wild, with strands lifting away from her head as though she had been pulling at them in her sleep, while others were plastered to her skin, matted down by the sheen of sweat; her normally genial hazel eyes had lost a good amount of their warmth in her frozen state of terror, and her lips lay parted as she continued to pant, far too close to hyperventilating for Chibs’ comfort.

“Lass,” he croaked, his voice having fallen a considerable way with the pit of his stomach. “Caoimhe?”

He took a step forward, completely at a loss of what to do. When she didn’t immediately seem to recoil from his gentle advance, he continued slowly until he was perched on the edge of the bed.

“Caoimhe, sweetheart?” He reached out to touch her hand, suddenly aware that her gaze was not focused on him - in fact her eyes were glazed over as she stared into the abyss of some private hell. Upon contact, she jerked her hand away from his fingertips, a stifled scream lighting upon her tongue.

“Caoimhe, lass. It’s me. It’s your Da.” Chibs murmured in an attempt to calm her frazzled nerves. “Sweetheart, it’s Da.”

Recognition flooded her face and she launched herself forward into his arms. Feeling his arms wrap tightly around her, she allowed him to pull her into his lap and cradle her there as she nuzzled her face into the base of his neck.

He began to rock her gently, just as he had when she was a little girl, and for the first time in far too long, she felt safe enough to give way to the tears that were almost constantly threatening their appearance, in another’s company.

Feeling the slight dampness spread across his shoulder and down his chest from her tears, Chibs pulled his daughter even closer than before and began to hum a half-forgotten melody.

Caoimhe listened, the mumbled words cutting through her conscious and transporting her back to her home, before her father had been forced to leave.

“You used to sing that to me,” she said. “Right before bed.”

There was a quiet rumble under her ear as Chibs chuckled.

“Aye, lass. Didn’t think you’d remember.”

She nestled closer into him, outlining with her fingertips the dollar note tattooed on his sternum, right above the classic Gaelic script depicting both her and Kerrianne’s names on his pec.

“Of course I remember,” she whispered. A small smile came to rest on her lips, “Ma could never get it right, so eventually she stopped trying.”

Chibs ran a hand over her hair, smoothing down the flyaways that had been disturbed during her night terror. “Aye, your ma was never much of a singer,” he said. “But, boy, did she like to sing.”

Caoimhe laughed. “I was always surprised that she never noticed how tone-deaf she was.”

The two chuckled quietly at their various memories of afternoons in the kitchen as Fiona cooked and tunelessly sang along to the radio, or sitting next to her in church as she enthusiastically belted out hymns. It had been years since either had been privy to such a moment, but there was little that could tarnish such a remembered embarrassment and quiet respect for the woman who didn’t give a shit.

As their quiet laughs died down, Caoimhe resumed tracing the tattoos that adorned her father’s skin; the reaper on his left upper arm, the anarchy symbol and cross on the other.

Chibs tucked her further into his chest and ran a hand gently over her hair, pulling his fingers through the strands, before he quietly resumed humming the melody.

_“Fhuair mi lorg na lach air an lòn,_

_Na lach air an lòn,_

_Na lach air an lòn._

_Fhuair mi lorg na lach air an lòn,_

_Cha d’fhuair mi lorg mo chubhrachain.”_

By the time he had made it through the lullaby, Caoimhe’s head had grown heavy against his shoulder and the hand she had been using to trace his tattoos was resting across their laps, her fingers slack.

He gently picked her hand up and lay a kiss against the palm, then turned his head and pressed his lips against her hair. Slowly removing his arms from around her, he rolled her back down onto the mattress and against the pillows, tucking the covers up around her small form.

“Codladh go maith, a leannan,” he murmured, before crossing the room and leaving the door ajar as he made his way back to the couch.

Here, he sat down on the edge of the cushions and took a deep breath, before lowering his head into his hands and setting free the silent body-wrenching sobs that had been steadily building against his ribs since he had seen the pure terror in her eyes as he entered the room.

There was no way that he could even begin to conceive the obstacles that she had come across on the road, the things that she had seen and done. There was a large part of his mind that was urging him to demand to know everything so that he could help set it all right in her mind; but a smaller, wiser part of himself knew that knowing the details would cause him to view her as fragile - something she would hate, if she was anything like himself - and ignite such a wrenching despair at seeing his daughter’s pain and suffering that he would take his brothers and hit the road, self-missioned with the assassination of any and all who proved to be the sources of her distress.

Glancing over his shoulder at the clock on the wall above the stove in the kitchen, he noticed that it was already advancing on dawn. The sky outside was steadily lightening, the nighttime blue waning and giving way to the pink hues that were creeping in.

He knew that it would be far too close to the witching hour to disturb any one of his brothers and receive a comprehensive response; and in any case, he was, as of that moment, still unsure of how to approach such sensitive topics or what outcomes he hoped to procure - with either his daughter or his club brothers.

Rubbing his palm over his face in a frustrated manner, Chibs threw himself back to lie on the couch, determined to obtain a few hours sleep to allow his brain time to process all of the information - confirmed or otherwise - that he had been handed in the past twenty four hours. That would at least give him a fighting chance at knowing how to proceed from here on out.

* * *

Juice knew in a split second that something was up when his burner rang before he was awake of his own accord. Fumbling for a moment as he wriggled his way free of his sheets that had tangled during the few hours he had been present in them, he launched himself to the edge of the bed and reached for the incessantly shrieking phone.

Clearing his throat quickly, he snapped it open and pressed it up to his ear.

“Mhmm?” he managed through a yawn the size of Kansas as he rubbed sharp fragments of sleep from his eye.

“Juicy?” he heard, instantly recognising the Scottish tones down the phone line.

“Is everything alright, brother?” he asked, instantly on alert at the obvious disquiet in Chibs’ voice.

“Nothing’s wrong exactly, lad.” Chibs sighed. “I just... I’ve been up a while just thinkin’ - worryin’ is more like it, really. There’s something up with Caoimhe, brother. I...” Chibs paused again, and Juice could hear him pacing as he blew out cigarette smoke.

“What can I do?” Juice stood up and began pulling on yesterday’s jeans that were still lying in a crumpled heap on the floor where he had disposed of them as he found his Jack-hazed way to bed.

“I don’t know exactly, Juicy boy. I guess I’ve just got some shit to put right in my head.” Chibs sighed again. “I’m sorry lad, I didn't mean to wake you.”

Juice pulled open the top drawer in his dresser and surveyed the pristinely folded t-shirts in their rainbow ordered array, selecting a plain white one from the very far right.

“Look, Chibs. I’m on my way over. Whatever it is, we’ll sort it out. We’re all here for you brother.”

“Ach, laddie. I know you are.” There was another break of silence in Chibs’ response, but Juice couldn't hear any reason behind it this time. “Shit, I thought I woke her.” Chibs said after a moment.

“I’m leaving now,” Juice said as he shrugged on his kutte, toeing on his boots using the skirting board by the door as leverage. “Put some coffee on?”

Chibs chuckled. “You got it, brother. And thank you.”

Juice allowed a small smile to grace his lips. “What’s family for, right?”

“Aye. I’ll see you soon.”

“Gimme five.”

With that they hung up and Juice slipped his burner into an inner pocket of his kutte, along with his wallet, and snatched up his keys from where they sat on the table by the door.

Exiting the room, he turned and locked the door behind him before slipping the keys into his jeans pocket.

Walking down the corridor as softly as his hard-heeled biker boots would allow so as not to wake the slumbering members of SAMCRO, he made his way to the main room, passing the kitchen where he snagged the last three blueberry muffins from the large basket that Bobby had brought in the previous afternoon. He bundled them up in the clean handkerchief that he kept stored in his left breast pocket at all times and carried them out to the parade of Harleys in the garage lot.

Securing his precious cargo in one of his saddlebags, he swung himself onto the motorcycle and clipped his helmet into place before roaring out of the lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next on my playlist is 'Break Your Heart' by The Gaslight Anthem, from their 'Get Hurt' album. I am totally in love with the whole album (as with much of their post-2010 stuff), but there was something that just jumped out about this song. Finally found this song and the chapter kind of fell together.


	6. 'Waking Light'

It was the lack of the day to day clamour of various clubhouses and the city streets that first began to rouse Caoimhe from her slumber. Small sounds, such as the Scottish lilt of her father - that had been reasserted in its familiarity after so many years - and the shuffling and clinking that accompanied a well rehearsed morning coffee routine, ghosted into her conscious after a moment, but instead of allowing them to completely rid her mind of blissful rest, she wriggled a little in the oversized bed, pressing back into the large pillows and wrapping the duvet even more securely around her.

A small smile crossed her lips as she lay there, wrapped up in the warmth of safety. It had been a long time since she had known exactly where she was when she awoke, even longer since she hadn’t been on red alert from the very second that her consciousness kicked in.

The sunshine was streaming through the blinds against the french windows that ran along the wall to the left of the bed, leaving the light in the room slightly dappled as it came past the slats.

Caoimhe lay her hand in a patch of sun, watching in contentedness as the gold tones played across her pale skin.

With the warmth soothing her skin, her eyes drifted closed and she fell into a half-conscious state.

A few minutes later, she heard the distinct rumble of a Harley Davidson pulling up outside. There was a pause in Chibs’ activity in the kitchen as he moved across the main room to open the front door. It was obvious, from the vast change in volume of the greetings and the following conversation, that private matters were being discussed - most likely to do with the club.

Sighing, Caoimhe pulled herself into a halfhearted sitting position with her legs crossed in front of her. She took stock of her memory of the house and was delighted to remember that there was no need to cross into the living room in order to shower.

She was positive that she looked a sight. Her hair was heavily mused with the frequent tossing and turning that the night had borne, her dark hazel eyes were puffy and tinged with red and lastly she was wearing an extremely crumpled version of the previous night’s outfit.

Shaking her head a little, Caoimhe shuffled her way to the edge of the bed and began to make her way towards the en suite bathroom.

Grabbing up the towel from the day before that was hung over the door, she headed into the bathroom and cranked up the shower, turning to ensure that both entrances to the bathroom were closed and locked.

Turning on the aged and rusted radio on the shelf by the basin, she quickly found a classic rock station and grinned a little as she felt the heavy beat of AC/DC begin to unwind the knots in her shoulders. In all honesty, she couldn’t possibly conceive a better way to start a day than jamming out in the shower.

* * *

Chibs heard the unmistakable growl of an approaching Harley when it was still a good mile away.

He proceeded to remove two oversized dark grey mugs from the top shelf of one of the cupboards in the large island. Carrying them over to the coffee pot at an unhurried pace, he then turned to the fridge and took stock of what breakfast foods were available.

There was little to nothing that could be considered breakfast food items besides a package of bacon that was half concealed behind a tupperware full of left overs from the previous week. Extracting it from its hiding place, he examined the packaging and found, to his dismay, that it was a good two weeks out of date.

With a vaguely disgusted wrinkle to his nose, Chibs disposed of the offending meat in the garbage and swung the fridge door closed. Juice would just have to fend for himself.

He began to pour out coffee into the mugs, filling them to the brim with the life affirming caffeine. Pausing for a second, he momentarily glanced towards his bedroom door, wondering when Caoimhe would surface and whether or not he should waken her before Juice arrived. Allowing her to continue sleeping seemed like the most viable option, meaning that he could unload the weight that had settled into his chest during the night onto Juice in confidence and that she could sleep away as much of last night from her person as possible.

Once the two mugs in front of him were full and steaming, Chibs placed a third mug by the coffee pot just in case Caoimhe woke up whilst he and Juice were busy. He then moved towards the front door with both hands occupied with the mugs as Juice’s Harley pulled up outside.

Kicking the screen door open with his foot, Chibs moved out onto the porch that ran the width of the front of the house and headed towards the two beaten up armchairs that sat side by side a little ways to the left of the front door. He watched as Juice dismounted his motorcycle and paused for a moment to rummage through one of his saddlebags.

The younger man straightened with a large bundle in one of his hands and made his way over to Chibs and up the steps to the porch, displaying his slow and loping walk the whole way.

Juice came to a halt at the top of the porch steps, taking a moment to permanently fix his fool-proof grin onto his face. Taking in Chibs’ countenance, he could sense that something had transpired since he and his daughter had exited the clubhouse late yesterday afternoon.

“Morning, Chibsy.”

Chibs ran a hand over his face, the worry and consternation of the night almost tangible on his skin.

“Aye, Juicey-Boy. That it is.”

He angled his elbow in the vague direction of the two lounge chairs to his right. Juice nodded and took the mug of coffee that Chibs offered out to him. They both took a moment to get themselves situated in the chairs before Juice turned a little in his seat to look directly at his brother in arms.

Chibs was sat back in his chair, staring out at the dead quiet street before them with very little expression on his weathered face.

Clearing his throat a little, Juice captured the older man’s attention.

“What is it, brother?”

He watched as Chibs’ eyes tightened a little before he began to speak.

“That I don’t know for certain, laddie.” He sighed and again ran his hand over his face. “It’s Caoimhe - not like that!” He pushed his hand out in front of him as Juice rose from his seat, set on rounding up the girl. “She ain’t done naught, boy. I’m more concerned about what’s been done _to her_.”

Juice nodded sharply and lowered himself back down into his seat. He lifted his mug from the table between them and raised it to his lips, preparing himself to listen as Chibs unloaded his worries.

* * *

Caoimhe wandered back through to the bedroom after exiting her shower, wrapped in the large fluffy towel.

Double checking that the door through to the main room was completely closed, she crouched down by her bag to construct as acceptable an outfit as her extremely limited wardrobe would allow. Pulling out her last supply of clean underwear, she threw these on and perched on the edge of the bed to begin towel-drying her hair.

From where she sat in the empty house, she could hear the rough murmuring of male voices. Her father’s distinctive accent and timbre could be made out even through the walls that separated them.

Allowing a smile to cross her lips at the reminder that she had finally made it home, she reached across the floor, pulling on some loose-fitting plain black cotton pants and a light beige crop top. Securing black sandals on her feet, she threw on a long gold chain from which hung a pendant of the Celtic Knot.

It was the last thing the Chibs had given to her before he was forced to leave.

_“You know what this means, lass?” he whispered._

_She shook her head, and he chuckled softly before kissing her forehead._

_“It means that nothing ends. I’ll find you, baby girl, even if it’s not in this life.”_

_She remembered staring up into his face, his warm hazel eyes glistening with unshed tears._

_She reached up her little arms and he pulled her to his chest, wrapping her up in the safety of his muscled arms. Tucking her face into the bridge between his neck and shoulder, she tangled her fingers in the hair that had always hung a little ways down the back of his neck._

_“I love you, Da.” she whispered, leaning back and pressing a small sloppy kiss on his unmarred if bristly cheek._

_Chibs felt his lips stretch into a pained smile, squeezing his eyes tight to prevent the rogue teardrops from falling from where they balanced on his lashes._

_“Aye, lass. I love you, too. More than you will ever know.”_

Wandering through to the kitchen after she was dressed, Caoimhe found an empty mug standing by the full coffee pot. She poured the bitter liquid of life into the mug until it flirted with the brim and leaned back against the counter to take the first sip.

Californian coffee beans had never really been to her taste, so she resolved to place the search for the best source of South American beans within the small town of Charming at the top of her list of things to do. It was always good, she found, to have your priorities in the right order.

Never the less, as the caffeine hit her tongue and the aroma travelled to her limbic lobe, she began to feel that the day was going to be less of a drag.

From out in the main room of the house, Chibs’ voice had grown in proximity, and therefore in volume, though it was still next to impossible to distinguish individual words from the overall rolling burr.

Moving a little closer to the doorway that was now only obstructed by the screen door, she hovered a little in the shade of the house. The men’s voices had become much clearer with the closer proximity but it was still a strain to follow what was being said.

Knocking gently on the wooden doorframe, she edged the door open a ways, peering through the gap. Chibs halted whatever it was he had been saying and turned in his seat.

“Hey, darlin’.” He smiled softly and waved her out through the door. “Come on out. Juice brought breakfast.”

It was only then that Caoimhe noticed the two partially eaten muffins on the table between the men. Her stomach awoke and made its presence known, growling loudly.

Juice smirked gently, reaching down beside his chair and retrieving a third muffin wrapped in a clean handkerchief. He held it out for her to take.

Caoimhe balanced herself on the balustrade of the porch, unwrapping her breakfast and shaking the ‘kerchief out to rid it of the crumbs before laying it across one of her thighs for the time being.

As usual, she broke the muffin top away from the main body and sat it on her makeshift napkin before digging in to the rest, effectively saving the best until last.

“Holy shit!” she exclaimed. “You make these?” she directed towards Juice.

He shook his head fervently, a large grin spread across his cheeks. “No. Bobby’s the baker. Turbinado sugar, organic flour, no processed shit.” He recited from memory.

“Aye,” Chibs chuckled. “Almost good for you; ‘part from the fact they’re turning me into a fat bastard.”

Caoimhe let out a chuckle, “Well, I’ve never been a follower of the whole Kate Moss mantra.”

The two men looked up at her in confusion; not that she was surprised. It was hard to imagine that a charter of well-weathered bikers would find the time or energy to keep up with the rest of the world in terms of celebrity comings and goings.

“You know: ‘nothing tastes as good as skinny feels’?” She shook her head. “It was all part of her pro-size zero campaign. It caused an uproar.”

The blank looks remained on the bikers faces.

“Kate Moss?” Juice asked, followed immediately by Chibs.

“Size zero?” The Scot questioned, appalled. “How is that a size?”

“Well, technically it would be a size minus-four here; seeming as she’s English.” Caoimhe shrugged. “Doesn't matter, don't worry.”

The men exchanged perplexed looks before shaking the pop culture from their shoulders.

“Anyway,” Juice started, slapping Chibs’ knee with the back of his hand. “Gem told me yesterday to remind you of the barbecue she’s having. We’ve got to be at Clay’s by two.”

Chibs nodded. “Aye.” He turned to Caoimhe. “You good with coming?”

Caoimhe looked up from her lap where she was slowly demolishing the structure of the muffin base between her fingers, to regard her father. Shrugging, she nodded. “I don't really get the feeling that I have a choice, right?”

Chibs grunted, “I guess not, lass.”

Caoimhe broke a piece of the muffin top off and played it in her mouth, chewing slowly as she ruminated. Swallowing, a thought hit her, stopping her in her tracks.

“Shit.” she muttered, before catching her father’s raised eyebrow out of the corner of her eye. “Da, come on. I’m nineteen. I’m allowed to swear.”

Chibs shook his head a little and rolled his eyes, surprised at himself for picking her up on it. He found himself stepping a little too easily into the ‘father role’.

“What were you going to say, lass?”

Caoimhe took a moment to swallow the piece of muffin that she had just placed on her tongue, before looking up at him again.

“Just that it wouldn’t be right if I turned up empty handed.” She shrugged. “It’s not like anyone really knows I’m here.”

“You want me to phone and see what she needs?” Chibs asked.

Caoimhe nodded. “That would be great, thanks.”

Conversation waned for a moment, allowing both men to reach into their kuttes for their cigarettes; Juice withdrawing a pristine pack of Marlboro reds, whilst Chibs revealed a battered pouch of tobacco and some crumpled papers.

Caoimhe watched in mirth as Juice visibly shuddered at the state of Chibs’ display of weathered offerings.

“Could I nick one?” she tentatively asked as they lit their various smokes.

Juice immediately reached his packet out to her, one cigarette already standing out a ways of the pack, ready for the taking. She took it and moved forward to allow him to light the end for her before she returned to the railing and her precariously balanced coffee mug on the baluster.

Chibs looked on in disapproval.

"Da," Caoimhe started, without looking away from the cherry of her cigarette as she flicked away the excess ash. "We've been through this."

"Aye, I know." Chibs grouched.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, 'Waking Light' is by Beck, from his 'Morning Phase' album - which is just beautiful in its entirety!  
> I chose this track because it brings with it a sense of bliss, peaceful reflection on the "night" and the promise of a better today.


	7. 'Alone + Easy Target'

“C’mon, lass,” Chibs called through from the front door. “We gotte go!”

Caoimhe took one last look in the mirror that hung from the back of the bathroom door. Running her hands across the cotton that covered her thighs, she took a deep breath and concluded that this was as good as it was going to get.

Her outfit from before remained intact, but her previously makeup free face had been rectified; a much finer line of black than the previous day framed her top lashes, with a few coats of mascara and accompanied by a nude lip.

Blending the finishing touches of the lip colour, Caoimhe nodded in approval. The overall look was subtle but put together. Having encountered various Old Ladies on her travels through the charters, he last thing she wanted was to come across to her father’s Family as an aspiring Sweetbutt.

It was growing increasingly evident that Chibs was growing impatient. He had begun to send out obnoxiously piercing whistles every few seconds, in a transparent attempt to drive her out of the bathroom.

“Caoimhe!” he called through when it became apparent that his plan of action was failing miserably. “C’mon, lass. Gem’ll have my bollocks if we’re late.”

Caoimhe rolled her eyes, “I’m comin’, Da.”

Running her fingers through her wild waves, attempting to tame the stubborn flyaways one last time, Caoimhe turned away from the mirror and hurried through to the main room of the small house.

Collecting her smaller shoulder bag from the bottom of her hold-all, she threw in enough makeup to touch up if need be, her purse - which was actually an old leather tobacco pouch that she had won off a biker in Northern Pennsylvania, playing a series of games of pool - and the front door key that Chibs had worked off his set of spares.

Noticing that Chibs had already commandeered the collection of tupperware that she had stacked in the fridge, she exited the house through the front door that her father had propped open with the toe of his boot. Idling against the kerb directly opposite the front yard was a 1981 Dodge Power Ram, Foo Fighters blasting out of the open cab window. From where she stood, teetering on the edge of the top step of the porch, Caoimhe could see the biker who had been seated to Chibs’ right in church. With his over-sized beanie locked in place over his head, he was hunkered down in the driver’s seat, nodding along to the music, his ringed fingers rhythmically tapping against the steering wheel in time.

Chibs came up behind her and gave a nudge to her shoulder blades with his elbow, directing her - not so subtly - down the stairs. “Get a move on, lass.”

This she did, descending the steps and crossing the front yard, before coming to a halt by the passenger door.

The biker turned to appraise her; a soft smile gracing his lips after a moment. He reached for the volume control on the radio, turning down the 90’s rock until it became little more than background noise.

“Hi,” he rumbled. His voice was low and gruff, but not unpleasant to listen to. It denoted the warmth that emanated from his eyes, whilst conjuring the image of a tamed grizzly.

“Hey,” Caoimhe returned, pausing for a moment as Chibs arrived behind her.

“Sorry about the wait, brother,” he said, rolling his eyes mirthfully. “I’d forgotten how long it takes a lass to get ready.” He nudged Caoimhe with his elbow again, throwing a teasing wink in her direction.

“No worries,” the bear-man replied, contained laughter warming his tone further. “Donna was having a fight with Ellie about an outfit when I left, so really I’m pretty glad to have been here and not at home.”

“Ach, fair enough.”

Chibs reached around Caoimhe for the handle to open the door. Having done so, he propped it open with the side of his knee and gestured for her to climb in.

Caoimhe slid hesitantly across the worn leather to the middle of the bench seat and, turning towards the so far unnamed biker, held out her hand as Chibs climbed in next to her.

“I didn’t really get to introduce myself,” she said, any insecurity or hesitance that she may have been feeling carefully filtered out of her voice. “I’m Caoimhe.”

The man smiled, engulfing her hand in his paw-sized palm and squeezing it gently. “Opie,” he said.

“Alright,” Chibs interrupted, his much louder voice filling the cab in a way that the others’ had not. “Courtesies out of the way?” He asked in a slightly mocking tone, his eyebrows raised high above the frames of his KDs.

Opie snorted, shaking his head. “Trust you to lower the class of passenger in here.”

Chibs let out a chuckle, “Got my street cred to worry about, brother. Cannae be going pansy arse.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Opie mumbled through his own chuckle as he manoeuvred the truck out onto the road.

* * *

Before now, Caoimhe had been completely unaware of just how quaint Charming really was.

Clay and Gemma’s house was on the other side of Charming from Chibs’ modest bungalow, in the more affluent suburb of the town, and in order to get there, Opie drove the truck through the centre of town.

Caoimhe was immediately floored by the lack of commercial brands and branches. Throughout the high street were small locally owned businesses: retro diners and quirky cafes, renewed vintage shops and small boutiques.

The people strolling the streets appeared to be completely at peace with their surroundings, seemingly unaware of the mass-branding and financial games that had bypassed the small town completely. It was less of a back-scratching hierarchy and more of a community that had been built within the borders.

It was hard to believe that such a place really existed; that the town hadn’t been overrun by wannabe-hipsters with their oversized cameras and shrunken trousers, ambling down the sidewalk whilst sipping on their dairy-free, extra shot, double caramel macchiatos and snapping candids of their every-days.

Sure enough, there were edgier parts of town, especially towards the borders, where the odd sketchy-looking bar served equally questionable characters. But having grown up wandering the backwaters of the States, Caoimhe reckoned that there was little, if nothing, that Charming could offer that would genuinely horrify her.

* * *

Arriving at Clay and Gemma’s, Opie backed his truck into a space that had been left empty, rolling to a halt directly opposite the garage doors. As he cut the engine, the doors behind them opened and the Vice President of the Redwood Original Charter strolled out.

“Hey, bro,” he greeted Opie, pulling him into a man-hug and slapping his palm against the leather that strained a little over the larger man’s shoulders. “Glad you could make it.”

He pulled back, his hand still resting on his brother’s shoulder. “Donna and the kids coming?”

Opie nodded. “Yeah. Donna was hashing out deals with them when I left, so they shouldn’t be too long.”

Jax’s eyebrows raised. “Donna behind you all coming today?”

Opie raised his unoccupied shoulder in a semi-shrug. “She was after I got done convincing her.”A rare dirty smile crossed his face and he threw a conspiratorial glance at his best friend.

Jax let out a low chuckle, “Yeah, I bet.”

Slapping Ope on the back again, he all but strutted around the truck bonnet towards Chibs who was climbing out of the opposite side of the cab.

He grabbed the older man’s hand in his own and pulled him in, slapping him hard on the back before pulling away.

“Afternoon, brother,” he said, appraising the man in front of him.

It was obvious to Jax, who had grown to know and love the Scot over the decade or so that he had been in town, that Chibs had suffered from a restless night. Worry was still playing at the corners of his mouth, regardless of the trademark grin that was forced into place. He was sure too that the man’s eyes would reflect the same story, with anxiety riddling through his normally warm hazel eyes.

“Is everything alright?” Jax asked in an undertone, making sure to lower his voice enough that Caoimhe, who was sliding gracefully out of the truck cab behind them, couldn't hear.

“Aye, Jackie. All’s good.”

Twisting his mouth up into an expression of scepticism, Jax nodded slowly, deciding to breach the subject further away from prying ears.

“A’ight,” he said, before turning to glance over Chibs’ shoulder at the young woman currently collecting herself and a number of tupperware boxes, ready to head inside.

“Hey, darlin’,” the blond started, edging around Chibs to reach out a hand to Caoimhe.

Chibs snorted a little at his brother’s seamless charm that emanated out from the smaller man at a moment’s notice.

Jax threw a barely disguised glare over his shoulder at his older brother, who immediately chuckled and moved around the truck to help Opie begin to carry various boxes and bundles through the garage to the back garden.

“I’m Jax,” he said, reaching again for Caoimhe’s hand. This time, she took it.

“Hi,” she smiled. “Caoimhe.”

“We didn’t really get a chance to introduce ourselves yesterday,” the young VP smirked apologetically. “It’s not everyday that we get daughters turning up from the grave, you know? But we could have handled it a little better.”

Caoimhe shrugged. “It wasn’t the coldest welcome I’ve ever had, so don’t worry about it.”

Jax raised his eyebrows, feeling the desire to press her on such a statement; but watching her for a moment or two as she nervous shifted her weight from one foot to the other, he decided that cornering and questioning her in the middle of his mother’s driveway was not the way to go about it. Especially not with her father within earshot.

“You haven’t met my mother yet,” he stated, cracking a grin.

Gemma Teller-Morrow proudly carried the title of the baddest biker bitch in town. There wasn't a single person - bar Jax himself - who didn't quake a little in their shoes at the thought of a confrontation with the Queen of Charming. Her temper was a thing of legend, with stories of her explosions travelling as far through the states as the charters went.

In fact, just that morning, while Chibs was collecting information from the Queen regarding provisions for the dinner, Juice had made a point to warn Caoimhe of just how brutal and cold the SAMCRO matriarch could be in her greetings; there was no softening touch to his renditions of potential-old-lady failures, followed closely by the other woman leaving town so fast that skid-marks on the asphalt were all that were left behind.

Caoimhe smiled a little, nervously. “Yeah, Juice said that too.”

Jax let out a laugh, relieving her of a few of the boxes she was holding. He began to head up the path towards the main house, turning back briefly to check that she was following.

Caoimhe took a moment to take in her surroundings before beginning to step along the cobbled path that lead to the front door of the house.

The house itself was beautiful; a large modern construction, all white-painted wooden panels and raw wooden window frames. Inside was no exception. Entirely open plan, the floors were mostly wooden, leading into tiles in the kitchen area, with cream walls and each section crammed with oversized furniture and colours that filled the house with warmth.

Jax paused in the main room to check that the young woman was still behind him, before signalling with a jerk of his head the direction of the kitchen.

Mentally berating herself for willingly entering into such a situation as the nerves began to reek havoc with her stomach, Caoimhe nodded in answer to his raised eyebrow and crossed the threshold into the house.

“Hey, Ma,” Jax greeted a tall striking woman with a kiss on the cheek. He deposited the tupperware that he was carrying on the countertop that she was currently leaning against as she surveyed the constructed chaos that had overrun her kitchen. He turned back to Caoimhe and extended an arm in encouragement, reeling her in closer to the pair.

The woman gave her a censorious glance up and down before raising an eyebrow as the corner of her mouth lifted in a smirk. She crossed her arms underneath her ample bosom and shifted her weight to one foot, jutting her hip out to the side. She was unquestionably confident in her seat of power when it came to this seemingly cobbled together family and it’s prospective members, and Caoimhe couldn't help but take a faltering step backwards as the Queen appraised her.

Jax watched on with a half-concealed smile lighting his lips at his mother’s tactics, knowing that underneath the hardened exterior was simply an over-protective Mama-Bear.

“You must be Chibs’ kid.”

There was no room for question in the Queen’s statement, and Caoimhe found herself nodding along.

“Yes ma’am. I’m Caoimhe.”

Gemma’s eyebrows lifted once again at the sound of her name. “Run that one by me again, sweetheart.”

“Kee-Va,” the younger woman shrugged softly. “I know, it’s mouthful. People have called me ‘Kay’ before, if that’s easier?”

Gemma snorted a little. “Don’t worry about me, darlin’. I’ll manage.”

Jax caught his mother’s eye over Caoimhe’s head and threw her a warning look. He knew that his mother was fully in charge of handling the female hang-arounds when it came to the club, but he felt that the potential daughter of a well-respected member perhaps deserved a little warmer a welcome.

Gemma rolled her eyes softly at her son before turning back to the girl in front of her. “So Chibs mentioned you didn’t want to turn up empty handed.”

It wasn’t much in the way of an acceptance but Caoimhe was determined to cling onto whatever the woman was prepared to offer.

She nodded enthusiastically. “I know that my arrival was...unexpected, and I really appreciate you inviting me into your home; I didn’t want to appear ungrateful. Also, my grandmother once told me that you should never turn up to a host’s without some kind of offering.”

Gemma smiled tightly; against her better judgments, there was something about this girl that was slowly growing on her. She patted Jax on the shoulder and winked warmly at him.

“How about you go out and help Clay fire up the grill, baby. We’ve got it from here.”

* * *

It didn’t take long for Caoimhe to find herself elbow deep in raw pie-crust, attempting to salvage the abomination that one of the crow-eaters had managed to create.

The rhythmic action of kneading the dough, along with Gemma’s flashing look of approval when she stepped up to the plate, was helping calm her nerves a little and she found herself beginning to interact with some of the other women present.

The young bartender from the clubhouse was working on the counter next to her, slowly constructing a chocolate cake mix. Having been stood elbow to elbow for a little under ten minutes, Caoimhe finally opened up the possibility of an amicable conversation.

She nudged the girl’s elbow a little, drawing her attention from the mix in front of her.

“Hi. Sorry, I didn’t catch your name yesterday.”

The girl smiled, “I’m Rae.” Looking down at her hands, she let out a small bark of laughter. “I would shake your hand but...”

Caoimhe smiled along with her, gesturing to her own flour and dough covered fingers. “I’m thinking you’re good. I’m Caoimhe.”

Rae’s eyes widened a little at the exotic sounding name. “Where’s that from?”

Caoimhe smiled softly. “It’s a Gaelic name. I’m originally from Ireland.”

“I thought your dad was Scottish?”

Caoimhe nodded, “He is, but he was travelling with the SONS from Glasgow after he finished school and met my ma in Belfast. I guess he didn’t really look back. But the name actually comes from both Ireland and Scotland; they just have slightly different pronunciations.”

Rae raised her eyebrows, her face twisting into a vaguely contemplative expression. “I guess you really do learn something new every day.”

“Alright, ladies,” Gemma’s voice barked over their shoulders. “Enough chit-chat. We’ve got an army of hungry men and children out there, and the grill’s almost ready.”

Caoimhe snuck a look back over her shoulder at the woman hovering behind them, noticing the tinge of warmth that had graced the matriarch’s gaze since her arrival. With a small smile tilting the corner of her lips, Caoimhe raised two fingers to her brow in a mock salute.

“Yes, ma’am,” she replied as she swept her hand down through the air. Rae stifled a snort, morphing it into a cough as Gemma stood appraising the young Irishwoman. Finally, a reluctant smirk lit the Queen’s lips and she rolled her eyes good-naturedly.

“Smart ass,” she murmured, swatting Caoimhe’s backside as she moved back to continue in schooling the remaining crow-eaters in just how her kitchen was run.

* * *

Within the hour, the various tables in the well-tended back garden were groaning under the weight of the near-hundred dishes of food on offer; from burgers and hot dogs, to ribs and wings, salads, pies, quiches and chips. They were laid out on the tables in their varying food groups - not only for ease of access, but also to contend with the select few within the group of guests who suffered from various forms of OCD.

The children of SAMCRO and their associates had learned long ago that any food that they felt they might possibly want during the time that it was on offer, must be piled onto their plates at the start, before they disappeared off into the cubbyholes and secret corners that had been constructed in the garden during Jax’s youth. The men of SAMCRO were well known for their love of all foods - though perhaps less so the green and healthy varieties - and so the platters, that now lay heaving, would soon be empty, bearing only crumbs and morsels as proof of the food that had adorned them.

Caoimhe took a step back from the general chaos that ensued, watching in vague surprise the rate at which the tables began to clear. Sitting on a worn wooden bench along the edge of the grass, backing onto a collection of vivid green bushes, she pulled out the pack of spare smokes that Juice had handed her out of his saddlebag before he left Chibs’ that morning, putting one to her lips and lighting it.

As she contentedly pulled a draw from the cigarette between her fingers, she became aware of approaching company. Assuming that it was her father come to ‘check in’ as he had so promised to do, she kept her gaze forward, waiting for the figure to take a seat next to her before acknowledging their presence.

She heard the sound of a paper plate being lain on the wooden panels next to her, drawing her attention to her right.

Juice sat there, already tucking into his overfilled plate with gusto. He raised his gaze to meet hers and attempted a smile around the mouthful of food that he had just loaded. He gestured down at the plate between them with his elbow, his plate remaining completely horizontal, and hastily swallowed whatever was on his tongue.

“You didn’t look like you were going to brave it into the fight,” he said.

Caoimhe examined his face carefully as the grin that she was already coming to love spread across his lips, lighting up his entire face. She responded subconsciously, his boyish appearance and the obvious joy and comfort that he had in his surroundings showing through, pulling her own more tentative smile out.

“I don’t really blame you,” he continued, already loading his fork up again. “It gets pretty brutal. But just wait for dessert!” He raised his eyebrows in mock trepidation. “That shit gets fucking bloody, let me tell you. Just wait for Hap to get a look at the cakes.”

Caoimhe found herself laughing as he threw her a wink before raising his fork to his mouth. As he chewed, he placed his plate down on his knee and reached down to hold the second out to her. As she began to refuse to take it, he raised one eyebrow and pushed the edge of the plate into her hands.

She took a hold of it, smiling gently. “Thank you,” she said. “Completely unnecessary, but I really appreciate it.”

He snorted, shrugging. “It’s alright, beautiful. It takes a while to get used to the animals out there,” he said, nodding his head towards the hoard of patches that still surrounded the tables.

The pair sat in silence for a moment as Juice continued to plough through the food on his plate and Caoimhe took note of the various characters around her, making an effort to put a dent in the meal that Juice had brought her.

When it became obvious that there was no way on Earth that she was going to be able to finish, Caoimhe handed her plate to Juice. His plate had been clear for a good few minutes and it was obvious from the way that he was subtly taking stock of the men still milling around the tables and the remaining food there, that he was seriously considering going up for more.

“There’s way too much,” she said as he went to refuse it. “Seriously, I eat any more there’s gonna be no room for dessert; and I know for a fact that there is a gorgeous chocolate cake with my name on it.”

Juice grinned at her last comment, happily taking the remaining food off her hands and beginning to motor his way through it.

“Everything go okay in the kitchen?” he asked.

Caoimhe nodded, reaching down for the packet of cigarettes and lighter that she had returned to her bag. Straightening back up, she offered the pack to Juice with a smile. He shook his head, pointing with his fork down to the food in front of him.

Lighting up, she took a deep breath and blew out a gentle smoke cloud. She placed the packet and lighter on the bench between them as an open offer to Juice and then moved to sit facing him, her legs crossed on the bench in front of her.

“I almost didn’t quite believe your stories until I actually experienced that glare.” Running her free hand down the side of her face, she laughed. “Holy shit. I swear, I was close to running for the hills myself.”

Juice joined in with a snort, nodding vigorously. “Yeah, imagine going through that every time that you saw her for an entire year. Before you’ve got the patch, you're no better than the sweetbutts.”

Caoimhe raised her eyebrows, taking another draw from her cigarette. “That I don't find difficult to believe.” She shrugged. “I’m still not entirely sure what happened, but I think as long as I don’t fuck up, the Queen and I are okay.”

“That’s pretty impressive on your first day in court.”

Juice was already coming to the end of his second helpings, and Caoimhe could do nothing but watch in vaguely disgusted fascination as he loaded the last forkful into his mouth.

“What?” he mumbled, catching sight of her expression in his peripheral vision.

She simply started shaking her head, completely dumbfounded. “How the hell do guys eat that much? I mean, I’m not exactly what you’d call a delicate eater, but I don’t honestly think that I could pack away half of what you’ve just eaten in one sitting...”

Juice laughed, shrugging. “You probably won’t believe me, but my younger sister was so much worse; she must have been part vacuum cleaner.”

Caoimhe caught sight of a trail of women making their way inside, carrying the empty platters back into the kitchen. She stamped out the butt of her cigarette in the ashtray on the grass before standing and offering her hand for Juice to load the plates into.

“Looks like duty calls,” she said, a tight smile on her lips.

He stood as he handed the empties over to her, and lay a hand on the small of her back as they both turned back towards the party.

This move did not go unnoticed by Chibs. He was stood a little off to the side of the grill with Tig and Happy, beers dangling from their fingers as they talked.

“You okay with that, brother?” Tig asked, nudging an elbow towards the couple crossing the grass.

Chibs frowned a little. “Me and her, we’re still at an impasse on this whole father/daughter thing.”

Tig rolled his eyes a little and threw his hands out to the side, “So? That’s still your kid, right?”

“Still waiting on water-tight confirmation on that...” Chibs growled out, his teeth clenched as he attempted to conceal just how much the thought of Juice with his hands on Caoimhe was bothering him.

“But you’re sure.” Happy stated in his gruff tone, eyeing Chibs carefully with his vigilant gaze.

Chibs sighed, placing his free hand on his hip and taking another swig out of the bottle of Miller’s in his hand. “Aye, brother. That I am.” He shook his head, slightly bewildered. “She’s almost the spitting image of my ma.”

* * *

Caoimhe entered the kitchen, her hands laden with plates that she had collected from around the garden. Moving towards the large black trash bag that sat by the sink, she sidestepped a little to give way to Gemma who was raging through the kitchen, chivying women back out of the door with fresh stocks of paper plates and disposable cutlery, followed closely by the numerous desserts.

Waiting for a lull in the mass panic to get the remaining course out to the men, Caoimhe began to stack the various dishes that were within her reach. Finally taking advantage of a breath’s gap in the siege, she made her way to the sink and deposited her armload on the side.

Running the hot water, she searched around her for the washing-up liquid and, having found it in the cupboard below the sink, she added it before waiting for the basin to fill.

It was a few minutes later, when the kitchen had emptied - the old ladies heading back out to their families, and the crow-eaters forming a gaggle on the front steps - that Gemma reentered to find the newcomer at the sink, steadily making her way through the pile of dirty plates.

“That’s what the gashes are for,” she stated, leaning back against the counter next to Caoimhe.

The younger woman looked up, smiling and shrugging gently. “I really don’t mind. It’s been a while since I’ve been a part of something like this: in any capacity.” She pulled a face, contorting her beautiful features into an expression of mild contemplation. “It’s strange, but it’s the menial tasks you really miss.”

Gemma snorted a little, “I find that very hard to believe.”

Caoimhe shrugged, rinsing off the dish in her hands and moving it o the draining rack before picking up the next from the pile to her left.

“I know, it doesn't make any sense. But when you don’t really have anything of your own, you take a weird sense of pleasure in making sure that someone else’s things are back in order.”

Gemma nodded, only vaguely remembering what the girl was talking about from her own checkered past.

“You’re not going to come out for dessert?” she asked.

Yet again, Caoimhe shrugged. “I’m okay here,” she said. “I’d like to make sure your plates aren't left in the mercy of the bottle-blondes out there.” She nodded her head towards the front door, a smirk playing on her lips.

Gemma reciprocated with a slightly catty smile, “I guess my kitchen thanks you.”

Caoimhe laughed, turning back to the sink. “Don’t let me keep you from your family,” she insisted, noticing that Gemma had yet to move from her side.

The Queen glanced up from the cigarette she was lighting. “I’m okay here, baby.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Alone + Easy Target' is, of course, by Foo Fighters, from their debut album in 1995, 'Foo Fighters'. I think the title itself kind of shows why I picked it to head this chapter! If you have not listened to these guys, I insist that you do; find the 90's rocker in you!


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